Grand Theft Auto: Sunbelt City
by Stelm
Summary: All these three wanted was money. Through several incidents and actions these three both find themselves in the city without any. No money no power. To tap into both of these they face savage street gangs, sadistic "lawful" organizations, crafty immigrants, the police, Cartels, bad economy, pimps, drug dealers, and the unwritten street code. Rated M. R&R. Native Gunz and Af Spirit.
1. In the Beginning

**STELM: _Alright guys this fic is product of the joint work of some of the best authors on this site. The team compromised of me (STELM), the honorable Native Gunz 13, and the skilled Afro Spirit. With major contributions from Zane Longsharks. _**

_**Sunbelt City is based on **__**Houston and surrounding cities. Majority of characters, organizations, places, actions, and dialogue have been created by me, Native Gunz, or Afro Spirit. The rest of the rights go to Rockstar.**_

_**Rated M for Intense Violence, Strong Language, Sexual Content, and Drug and Alcohol Use. **_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

**In the Beginning...**

**-Jrue-**

"Jrue. Twas your last day. We're gonna miss you bro." Devin, Jrue's closest coworker, said as Jrue took a huge a hit out of Devin's glass bong. He had pulled hard, held the smoke in, and made a semi-legit O that dispersed as it hit the panting open mouth of Devin's dog. Who ran away when the smoke got in her mouth.

Devin had ordered something special in since it was Jrue's last day at work. Jrue had a mini party held in the break room at their lunch break and had finished up his end on all the projects he was involved in. The duo rode in Jrue's modest Dilettante Hybrid Funk after the work day was over to pick up the cannabis cup award-winning Durban Poison Sativa and headed to Devin's apartment.

And here they were, smoking out of Devin's bong on his green couch watching a nature channel, Jrue had just started feeling the feeling only medibles could give you, the duo having split a macadamia nut magic brownie earlier. At this moment neither of them wanted to go anywhere duo to combination of the weed smoke and the weed going through their digestive system. _At the same damn time, _Jrue thought.

The green couch (or the green weed) had them glued on their ass. While Devin deconstructed his TV remote Jrue was in an intense fight with his hands, they just would let go of his phone. His hands were so heavy. _Who was I texting anyways?_

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

"Oh shit man it's the cops! They know we're high!" Devin yelled as he sprung up from the couch. He tossed the stoned Asian the chips and Jrue hid them under the table._ Nobody would ever find them again._

Jrue saw Devin light a candle and do an almost perfect roll over his own couch. He sat the candle on the table and started to straighten up while spraying himself. He tossed the can to Jrue and the Singaporean gave himself his own Italian shower. _The police wouldn't know what hit them._

"Hide in the attic and I'll get the door." Devin said and Jrue, whose stoned mind realized that the apartment had no attic, rushed to the refrigerator. Upon opening it he realized that the fridge had been infested with food! He just hid beside the big white box, his pock marked face rubbing the cold sides of the refrigerator.

"Junis!" Devin said in glee as one of their other computer programming co-workers came in the door a baggie of dank raised in the air for all to see. Jrue looked at it and laughed. Junis discovered the Asian in the corner and went up to hug him.

"Bro we're gonna get so fucking baked!" He exclaimed as he looked into Jrue's eyes.

"We already turnt up!" Devin said in the background as he turned on his radio, which was connected to two gigantic speakers. Dabs by Trapzillas was playing and Devin couldn't help but dance. He got on the table and before he could even try to bust any type of move he fell down. His impact looked like it hurt for a few seconds. But the crazy white kid got back up and tried to do it again.

The trio smoked the rest of the high-grade nugs and ate the other brownies and by the time they were done they were sprawled out on the floor looking at Devin's apartment ceiling. "Devil Want my Soul" French Montana was playing now and the TV was turned to the static channel. That had always been Jrue's favorite show growing up, he thought so at least. Jrue really couldn't remember much before he started working at Sexy Pupp Ent. He didn't remember how he got here.

"Dude. I'm gonna fucking miss you man. Where ya goin?" Junis asked from the kitchen floor. Jrue was in the living room beside the TV, floored as well.

"West." Jrue replied bluntly.

"Of the border?" Devin picked up on the conversation.

"Nah that's north I'm thinking west, San Andreas." Jrue said setting the record straight on his destination. He had planned for his girlfriend to come with him. They had already started to pack their bags.

"Damn."

"Damn." The two white boys said, Devin then Junis, a good minute or two in between each other.

"Rushmore's not gonna be the same without you dude." Devin said as his dog playfully licked his cheek.

Just then Jrue's phone rang and he put it to his ear to answer.

"Hey babe. What's going on?" Jrue asked his girlfriend, Erica, who was probably at home now exercising or something. She was the one who convinced Jrue to move to Rushmore.

"I need you to come home quick. We have to talk about something. See yah when you get here." Erica said in her normal even tone before hanging up. _No I love you or anything..._

"Fuck that noise." Junis exclaimed already knowing what the call meant.

"Go ahead man we'll catch you in the SA one day. Feel." Devin said defending Jrue's ultimate decision.

Jrue got up from the ground and dapped his homeboys up as they promised to meet him over in SA one of these days. He took a few extra brownies to go and his computer programming posse waved him off as he drove out of the apartment complex Devin lived in.

He hated his high driving. Jrue always felt like a policeman was chasing him every green light he passed. Every time he turned he felt like he was going to run over somebody or something. _Fuck I'm way too high to drive._

As Jrue blaze drove his hybrid through the streets of Rushmore City he knew he was going to miss the crime filled city filled with hustlers, killers, gangbangers, prostitutes, and druggies. It had served him well for the time being but the money was going to either Liberty, SA, South Harroline, Carcer City, or Sunbelt City. The stoner had to follow the money; he promised himself that he was never going to go broke after he graduated. He was gonna sail straight through in his computer programming career until he got enough experience to become a senior programmer or just a higher paid computer programmer. Maybe he'd get hired by a bigger company, maybe he'd become the father of modern computer programming. Who knew?

Sexy Pupp had paid him well it was just the hours that were cruel. He had very few days off and the job was just a lot of stress, so he ended up having to smoke alot of said stress to just stay afloat. Projects had to be done orderly and if they weren't somebody got cut. He had seen a lot of people gone down in the line of being fired. He had not been one of those people and he didn't want to be. He hadn't spend thousands at LCU to stand in an unemployment line.

As he drove by he saw a roving groups of Aces walking on the street, probably ready to start a riot or kill a bunch of enemy bangers. Luckily Jrue lived further down this street where the bangers were a lot scarcer. He had dealt with guys like them in his own high school. Slinging pills and some quality bud was the hardest thing Jrue had ever done. Never got robbed, never got fucked over, and had paper all throughout high school.

He parked beside the curb and got out of his car. Their house was a small one but it was nice for a new couple. The house was made out of bricks and had a rustic red top with old fashion windows. The perks of buying a 60s house was the 1962 prices.

Jrue walked through his unkempt lawn that was cut in the middle by a concrete walkway, wondering what it was the girl could want. He checked himself and realized he was good. He was dressed in some black jeans, a gray tank, and an orange beanie that he had changed into at Devin's. He had his work clothes in the backseat.

As the still high timing Asian boy opened the door he saw his pale ice queen of a girlfriend. She was hot, young, and she knew it. She was a Barbie who got whatever wanted. Jrue thought she was amazing in the sack but on the other hand he had only one other girl in his life, a chick named Dobe who was in the Marching Band his senior year. _What happens in Band Camp stays in Band Camp right?_

Jrue felt that they supported each other, although many times she had been the one in need of the help. She had been his light at the end of the tunnel for a while. She wanted to move to Rushmore and Jrue said "Ok! Let's Go!" She wanted to keep in touch with her ex boyfriend, Jrue told her, "It's OK I understand." She wanted him to pay for their house and not wanting to look like a total deadbeat he said, "Its fine I'll just work overtime." Jrue just wanted to make her happy.

"I'm totally freaking out right now." She said as she paced the living room. Her phone was on the table. She had just been given some bad news.

"Why?" Jrue asked wondering how bad the situation could really be.

"Okay listen my Dad just called me and he's making a surprise visit. I never told him about us. He thinks I'm his independent little angel. I told him I'm working at a law firm as a paralegal. If he finds out that I've been sharing the house then he'll lose all respect for me!" Erica explained as she sipped some coffee out of a Terrorist Cofee cup. Jrue recognized it as the infamous Osama Bin Latte. Erica's favorite.

"When is he coming?" Jrue asked, now concerned on how long he had to break it to her dad.

"Tonight!" Erica exclaimed her eye's as wide as they were when they saw me.

"Cool so I'll just dress up and be a nice guy when he comes." Jrue said, confident that Erica would be confident in my abilities to impress.

"No no, I'm sorry. You know I love you but I just need to break it to him, alone. I just need you to stay occupied somewhere else for a while." Erica explained her faced crinkled up, tears threatening to fall if he didn't say yes.

"Okay."

_1 hour later…_

Jrue had packed all of his belongings. Which mostly consisted of clothes, a jar of nugs, porn magazines, his laptop, his phone, his LX30, and some of his old books from college. He kissed Erica on the cheek and packed his car with all he had in this world. Jrue just hope Erica would tell her dad soon, definitely before the three days were over.

Jrue wanted to call Devin and Junis but both had cramped living arrangements and wouldn't be able to make room. Plus he wouldn't want them to laugh at the situation he was in, being kicked out of his own house. So the young educated Asian took his pride and roamed the streets of Rushmore in his shitty little Hybrid.

As time passed he found a vacant house that was for sale in a decent neighborhood. He parked behind the house unable to think of any place else to go. The only thing he wanted was for nobody to find him sleeping in his car. It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't had to do it for three days.

_3 days later…_

_Fucking bugs. I fucking hated mosquitoes with their little tiny insect fucking brains! _Jrue thought to himself as he lay under his covers, his stench was killing him almost as much as the mosquito bites were. Jrue had about two hours of sleep these past three nights. Erica rarely answered his text and when she did she would say that her dad was taking her somewhere. Jrue really couldn't lay back because all of his stuff was packed into the backseat. So Jrue had to sleep sitting up in the driver's seat of his own car, covered in a blanket, in sweltering heat behind a vacant house. Like a tramp.

Jrue was half asleep when he heard...

"Freeze! Put your hands where I can see them. Don't try anything funny." Jrue freaked out, yet he could do nothing but stay still. He eventually got the nerve to get out the car in a daze with nothing but his briefs and pizza stained white beater on. His hands raised as the policed swarmed over to him.

The police explained to him that a neighbor had seen as strange car parked behind the vacant lot and called the police. Jrue probably would have done the same thing in his old neighborhood.

After they had calmed down they decided that Jrue wasn't a national threat and asked me what he was doing there. I told them the whole story on the fact that he had to leave his house because his ice queen girlfriend's dad didn't know that they were dating and it all sounded pretty ridiculous to both Jrue and the cops.

"Seriously?" One the hefty cops asked. Jrue was tired and didn't really have the energy to explain.

"Yeah."

"You need to go somewhere else," the hefty police officer said still trying to be professional, "Try the Mally World parking lot."

As he turned around not go back to his squad car I could hear him whisper into another cops ear, _"Poor bastard." _

After Jrue drove to the Mally World parking lot he decided to do some real thinking. Something he had to do because he couldn't go to sleep.

"I'm such a fucking loser!" Jrue told himself his face crinkling up in anguish. Jrue's dad would be pissed if he heard the girl who he had told him so much about just bitched him around.

Jrue had nothing to do so he went through his entire collection of notes and text books and started to read through them. Jrue read excerpts from Marx, Communist Journals, a good 45 pages of Trigonomic equations, some psychology books and pamphlets, some Sun Tzu lit, and much more. Jrue didn't know if it was the delirium from barely any sleep for three days or if his sanity snapped and he gained 60 IQ points but he couldn't stop flipping through the pages of knowledge.

As the sun came up Jrue knew what he had to do. He had to rage war on his opponents, because war never changes and only the strong survive. He had even made a list of reasons he should just break up with her and be done with it.

As he rolled up on his own house, a house the out of work man hadn't seen in half a week. Parked on the curb was a gray 2012 Cheetah. Not what you'd pin as a married father's car. Erica's Admiral wasn't on the curb so Jrue figured he'd call the house phone to try to talk to her dad.

After three rings Jrue herd somebody pick up. "Hello?"

"Mr. Libbit?" Jrue asked for her father but the person answering the phone was a dude close to Jrue's age. What the fuck.

"Nah man this is Darren." The young guy replied and although the tired and starving Asian wanted to scream at the man, hell he wanted to kill the guy, but he didn't he just replied saying.

"Tell her Jrue called. Goodbye." The crying computer programmer said as he put let his foot go all the way down on the gas. He ignored stop lights and stop signs like they were flashing Christmas decoration. He didn't know where to go he just accelerated until he got on the highway to anywhere.

**- Ernesto-**

Texas was very different from the last time Ernesto Santana Ocelotl had been home. He had been in San Andreas for the last ten years and for eight of them he'd been in the pinta, San Roberto, one of the biggest prisons in San Andreas.

He was a career criminal from Sun Belt but he had gone to live in L.S. for a while at the end of the 90's and start of the new millennium. He had a son and an ex wife, at the time she had just been his wife not his ex, which had an ugly stigma and weight to the word itself. They had been living in Eco Park, a barrio in L.S. when they had been living there. He was treated as a veterano out there because he was a Tejano who was representing La Onda, a prison based gang in San Andreas. His own papi had actually been the one to start the Onda chapter in Texas back in 1984.

The barrio Ernesto had grown up in was an area called Gulfton Heights, a varrio south west of downtown Sunbelt. Finally, Ernesto got to his old house which was where his ex had moved back to. He knocked on the door. "Marisol, I'm home!" There was no answer. He tried the door. Locked. Damn it! It was one thing for the bitch to file for divorce when he was out-of-state and was not able to even go back home until he was off parole. It was another to lock the door and not even tell him how his kids were.

While it was his own fault that one of his sons, Luis had been killed in 2003 when he had gotten involved in a robbery, the same robbery he had gone away for, it had been her fault too. She had complained about them not having enough feria at the time.

He had five kids with his ex. Obviously one of them, his oldest, Luis, had been killed in the bank robbery back in 2003. Because of this his wife had resented him ever since. It was true it was mostly his own fault but at the same time, his kids had been more understanding as to why it had happened and why he did it than their mother had. It was funny his ruca back then she had no problem taking the money when she needed it but she then often got moralist when she found out how he got the money.

He hated that about her. She was not a gold digger but she was a hypocrite indeed. He saw that just like she had in the 90's when he had lived there with her and the family had been together, she kept a spare key under the welcome mat.

He walked inside of his house. A lot of it actually looked the same as it had since the last time they were there. She had always been a neat freak like that.

He observed his own reflection in a mirror in the front room. He was about five foot nine in height and he had jet black long hair that he had tied back in a ponytail, Indian style. His body was a canvas of tattoos.

On his left arm he had a tattoo of the word Aztlan. He also had a tattoo on his lower bicep that was an Aztec sun. On his chest was a tattoo that read PVL. This was a tattoo he had from his days living in the varrio growing up out here. It stood for Puro Vatos Locos, a New Austinian variant of a gang that originated in East Los Santos. It was also his true cliqua that was in his corazon. Under the PVL he had the number 13 which was in Roman XIII.

On his back, he had a tattoo that read Remember the Alhambra: We kicked ass that day! Usually, white Americans said Remember the Alhambra because so many "brave" US New Austinian soldiers had fought to the last man against the hordes of Mexican soldiers during the Mexican American war. It was patriotic and xenophobic bullshit. It was a colonial concept that the white man even thought this land was rightfully his own. So though the Mexican side had lost the war, and Texas became a state even though it had been part of Mexico first, that was a glorious battle for La Raza.

The only ones to be spared in that battle were some women, children and a few black slaves. So when Ernesto had this inked up on his back it was both ironic and defiant. Whether it was Texas, Mexico, or America, he knew this had been is family's home and his family tree had been on what was now Texas long before the war itself happened. This was actually true for many people.

As he looked at himself in the mirror at the scars and the wrinkles he had got from the years he used to be a smoker, he saw your typical view of an Indian warrior. It was just like the ways of how it was in the old western movies he looked like one except one minor detail. Though he was 90 % Indigenous, according to a DNA test, between Nahuatl and Mayan ancestry, he also was 10% European and that was more than likely the blood of some bastard Spanish conquistador. It was also from that little bit of Spanish blood that he even had facial hair at all. Most Native Americans, as many did not know, did not have facial hair prior to European intergration.

He had a goatee and a mustache. He often shaved it off but had not in a while. As he searched through what had once been his room he saw old pictures of his kids. He had four other ones aside from Luis. There was Carmen who he believed still lived here. she was a doctor last he heard from her letters. She was such a smart woman and he was proud of her she had gone straight. She was even starting her own free clinic when she had the chance for people of lower income.

There was his son, Lupe who had moved back to Mexico, attempting to make it better down there having even built his own house from money he made in the US. A lot could happen when doing an eight year bid. He had been lucky to get out on parole after a parole violation he'd already had. Then there was his daughter Angela who was going to college out in L.C. she was his youngest daughter but not his youngest kid.

God he had missed a lot being on lock down! He'd been paroled in 2011 but could not leave the state for two years. He had gotten it in part due to earlier release for good behavior trying to help brothers inside who were addicts get clean, as well as trying to get the younger homies in the pinta that did not have GED's or HS diplomas to pursue it. plus being granted parole. But eight years had been mandatory at the very minimum. He was lucky as it could have been worse but at the same time he was a two time felon. One more and that'd be it.

As he searched through what had been their old bedroom, he found something he did not expect to find. His papi's old .44 Magnum. His old man had used this back in his days. He checked the gun and saw that it was still loaded. While it had been in Marisol's place it was still rightfully his. Lastly, there was his youngest son Miguel.

From what he'd heard from Carmen, since she had actually kept in touch unlike his ex, he had been the black sheep among them. Or at least the one fuck up after three of them were doing well. The first fuck up since Ernesto himself and Luis.

He walked outside and shut the door behind him. A veterano for the Puro Vatos Locos spotted him. It was an old homeboy, Flaco from way back that he ran the streets with. "Que paso, amigo? What you doing in Marisol's casa?"

He greeted the homie slapping hands and exchanged a quick hug. Flaco was scrawny but athletic. He had slicked back hair and was clean shaven. He wore a pair of greenish khakis and brown checkered shirt over a blue shirt. "Hey it's my house too, homes! I may have been locked up but everything I did was for la familia and she knows it! You know it too! You know where she is? Or my son?"

The gang banger told him, "Mira k I don't know what's up with your ruca, man but that's your business. I'm sorry it didn't work out though. But listen, I've actually been worried about Miguel too. He's been slinging over in the wards and a couple of the corner boys don't like it."

Ernesto demanded, "Which ward? I'll go over there and scoop him up. It better not be 5th! We aren't cool with them." Flaco sighed , "If i tell you just...remember you didn't hear this from me, entiendes? He's in the 3rd ward. If I were you I'd be just as uncomfortable with him slinging there but a lot of our gente have been moving into that area. I guess he's taking customers from the competition."

Ernesto groaned. "Mierda! Does he have a cuete?" Flaco nodded. "Si mon! I know it aint my place to do that since he's your mijo and all but I didn't want any of our soldados around there without one. You got a car? I'd give you a ride but I don't have gas."

Ernesto shook his head. "No car, hermano. Took a cab over here. Gonna need to find another way to get over there."

Flaco called, "Sparky! Come here!" A young cholo on a BMX came over. "Que tal?" He nodded to Ernesto, "Let him borrow the bike homes. He's a veterano. He took care of one of those Locs for us back in 93," The youngster hesitated but gave it up.

Ernesto thanked him. "Gracias, carnalito. I'll bring it back." He rode out to the 3rd ward to find his son glad for the .44 as he was riding into a hostile area. As he crossed the street, a motorist honked at him as he zipped across the street. He flipped the person off as he rode down the street. As he rode through he saw a couple of tags in the Gulfton Heights varrio.

He saw one tag that said SWC. That stood for South West Cholo. they were an odd kind of gang. Though they had the X3 at the end of their names, they also wore a lot of the number five on their tattoos and would have a pitchfork. This was a symbol of the Soul Nation, a bitter rival of the Kin Nation both two gang factions, an alliance of white, black and brown gangs from Carcer City that had beef with each other. For them to have a Soul Nation symbol on them, was a big time no no when also having the number 13 which was alliance to the Mexican Mafia.

They were mostly a down crew but they needed to learn their place and if it took a little bloodshed so be it. As he rode on he saw other various sets on the wall. He even saw a Locs tag and cursed. "Fuckers are gonna regret that. This aint a Locs hood."

**-Barry**-

Barry St. Clair was on a cross country bus from Vice City to Texas. He had enough money to to help him last but he was a little bit sick and tired of having to constantly have to move all over the motherfucking country. He was tired of it all. This was the third time he'd had to start over again. As they moved through the hot dessert, passing through small towns and empty dry flat lands, he closed his eyes remembering how this bullshit had started. He'd grown up in Dukes all his life. He was 33 years old. He had been born to a Haitian father and a Jamaican father. Those streets had been mean to grow up on. They'd both worked hard trying to support him and his older sister. His sister had been the first to leave the flock.

After that, his parents had split up and divorced. They'd actually given him a choice. Which parent he wanted to stay with. If he lived with pops he'd get to still live in Dukes but if he went with moms he would have had to move with her to Jamaica. She had known her son was getting involved in the dope game too. All though there had been gangs like the M.O.B crew from the Firefly Projects and the Spanish Lords, their bitter rival, plus the Hillside Posse, he had not been down for any of them.

He was all about the hustle and he was careful when he did it. Both his pops and him had teamed up making scratch off the cluckers in the hood. Barry had loved his mama but he didn't want to leave the hood and go to Jamaica. It was too small of a place for him to be at. So he stayed with his father well into his early twenties. For a long time the hood was good to him and so was the game but they were both violating one major rule. If you sling on somebody's turf you had to give up some taxation. Sure, maybe it was taxation without representation but it didn't really matter.

If they didn't give a fuck about the laws of society they had to care about the laws of the streets but his pops was a machismo Haitian tough guy and he didn't respond to the MOB niggas threatening his life on a daily basis. He'd gotten into a few shootouts with them and Barry had backed up his pops like a good son was supposed to but even after they'd laid out a few of those bitches, he knew something ugly was coming down the road.

His pops got gunned down at a bus stop in 2003 by two M.O.B. goons. He had waited a while to avenge him too as he didn't want the pigs to catch wind of it. So after two years of being under their watchful eyes, he'd caught up to one of them. He had been meeting his father that day when he'd been murdered and he had seen one of them but he hadn't gone after them he had tried to revive his father. He'd died on the way to the hospital.

He'd shot the nigga that did it but he'd only been one of the two who had. Some punk motherfucker named Steve Carter. He put three in his chest and one in his computer. Unfortunately for Barry, the police still had him as the person of interest for anybody who would want to ice a hoodlum from Broker so they booked him. The jury had agreed it was enough evidence to give him twenty five with an L. This was in 2005.

The funniest part about all of this was that his homeboy Shifty, another solid nigga, and a fellow trapper like him, was talking about taking his baby Mama to Africa and getting out of there. At the time, Barry couldn't for the life of him understand why he'd want to. Africa was hot and it was poor and he damn sure didn't know what opportunities, if any were out there.

Shifty had told him, "Look dawg, I know it sounds crazy but I got a better chance of surviving out there than I do out here in these streets. My days is numbered, G and so is yours if you don't either come with me or find another way outta the game. I mean, I know there's chaos over there too but that's home you feel me? I know what Dukes has to offer but I aint never been outside of this country before. I need to see the world, man cause it's bigger than Liberty City."

Meanwhile he had been booked a few days after he had this conversation with his best friend and the pigs had tried to give him a deal. At first, when they had taken him to a basketball court to have a meeting with him, that they were either going to kill him or ask him to snitch in exchange for a reduced had not been the case. They had asked him to infiltrate a Black Muslim group. He was to become a member of this Black Power nationalist movement so that he could get close enough to the leader, and kill him before he could give his speech on New Years Day, in particular about police brutality and political corruption in US elections, both on a federal and local level.

It was probably the last thing he had planned to talk about that was the real reason the Liberty City Police Department wanted him dead. He was going to talk about the New World Order. Now, Barry had grown up Christian, a Baptist at one of the local African American churches and all though in his teens and childhood he had feared the Devil, by the time he had reached adulthood he considered it bullshit. The same had been the case for any talk of the Illuminati or the NWO. However, he had been required as part of his undercover task, to learn about the Islamic faith and about the group's nationalist politics.

When the time had come to pull the trigger he had caught the man, a gentle faced black man in a suit and bow tie, in his office study fifteen minutes before he was to give his speech. The man had talked to him, telling him that if he were o go through with what he was planning on doing, he would just be doing what the white man wanted him to. Above all, he would just be doing what the powers that be would want him to do.

That in history, as with the Koran, there was heroes and villains. If he were to pull the trigger, sure he might get some respect but only from oppressors like the L.C.P.D. Sure, they had offered him freedom and immunity if he killed him but the man's words had gotten under Barr's skin. He had lowered the gun just as the black power militant's guns burst through the door with their own weapons drawn. The man, John Ali, had hugged him, embracing him like a long lost son or brother.

He had held his hand up saying to his guards, "It's okay. It's okay. The brother is just a lost soul but we will help him find his way back to the light," So in the end, Barry didn't go through with the murder. They had tried to assure him that he would not be arrested if they could help it but he had be and for years, they had worked on trying to free him but all it resulted in was them having m,arches and protests to have them free Barry, something he had never thought would happen to him.

Though they had some violent confrontations with the police and had won a lot of sympathy with the people of Liberty City, of all races and backgrounds, when they were told of his story, still, the court locked him up and threw away the key. Only this time he found himself on life without the possibility of parole at the Alderney State Correctional Facility.

The worst part about it was he had a woman on the outside back in the hood. Her name was Tameka. They had a son together. He had been five years old when Barry had been arrested back into custody. He actually wondered if that wasn't a violation of a certain law. The double jeopardy law. He used to watch that movie in the hood you couldn't get accused for the same crime twice. He had seen it, a movie about a white lady who had got jammed up for a murder she didn't do, accused of killing her own husband so when she did finally get out she ended up killing the guy anyway.

He wondered if by some law loop hole he too could have gotten off? Then again, he was a hood nigga from Dukes. Same circumstances, it wouldn't have gone down like that with him. As far as the pigs were concerned, he was in violation of a deal they'd made. He was pretty sure that was illegal too that they were staging an execution of a man who spoke against police brutality and political corruption but then again whose word would anybody believe if he took it to the judge?

So he had adjusted to prison life. Since his life as a free man in the physical world was pretty much over he had dedicated the next three years of his life to the new found religion he had joined. After all he had failed to go through with the murder and a lot of it did make sense, what Minister John Ali was teaching. For three years he had stayed in that prison used to prison life or as used to it as one could be. He was getting love from both the hood niggas and the Muslims but he was with the Muslims.

He was prepared to never see the light of day, aside from time on the yard so he figured he should get right with God in there. However, on the day that a group of gun-toting bikers came int o the pen shedding lead he didn't know what to think. One of the Black Muslims who had been part of the same group he had, also managed to get a gun of his own snuck in.

He had been saving it for a rainy day so when a group of bikers known as The Lost MC came in dropping bodies looking for their leader Billy Grey, the brother, known as Charles A. Muhammad made a move too. While the bikers were killing motherfuckers left and right outside, he and his boys were still finishing up with lunch. He used his access to a gun to take six guards hostage.

For the vast majority of prisoners they did not dare to run but many were brave enough to try to run for it. When he had seen the prison wall had been blown up and that freedom was in his reach, he took the chance. Sure, some might say he went back to his old ways but in reality, the thing the man had asked him to do was wrong and this was his shot to be free. Many inmates had been shot by guards on the tower but he had managed to get away as had a few others. He had escaped because two Italian inmates and a Jewish guy managed to commandeer a laundry van and had advised him, "Get it! We've actually got a plan to get the fuck outta here unlike these other idiots!"

So now, here he was five years later. He had been living off the grid as best as he could. The first place he'd gone to was Los Santos when he had escaped. He'd worked for various bangers and hustlers out there and had his own hustle out there but eventually he ended up leaving. Niggas in L.S. were al trying to get to the top but there were too many people capping each other for most of them to make it to wealth.

After this he had gone to Vice City and it had been more of the same shit but Vice was at least more like a city strictly for hustlers rather than gang bangers and hustlers and anybody who was both. He wasn't sure how but the Vice City Police Department had gotten wind of him being a wanted fugitive in the area so he had got on the first bus out of town. He suspected he was set up by one of his associates but he didn't have any proof as to who though he always had his suspicions. Whenever anybody from any hood got pinched they thought of two things when they were in prison.

One was all the shit they wanted to do when they got out. If they ever did get out. The other was who standed to benefit the most from fucking them over? Now here he was. It had been a long ass bus ride but hopefully now he could be free.

Hopefully, Barry would have a chance at a fresh start. As they arrived at the destination he got his bags and got ready to start over once again, for what seemed like the third or fourth time in his life. As he got off the bus he knew that either way, whether he made it or would die trying to, this was his final shot at starting over. After prison he became disillusioned with the religion he'd practiced in there. He wasn't the type to hop from faith to faith he had just learned about them and they'd made sense at the time all though with being a Baptist he wasn't given an option he had been made to go.

He did have to admit though, Islam had done a better job of nearly getting him out of the life than being a Christian ever had. Almost anyway. Now he didn't know what the hell he was. He didn't even know if there was a God but he hoped that if there was one, he'd be looking out for him. It would take a miracle for him to be able to live the rest of his life as a free man. So he needed a miracle.

As he walked through the station nobody gave him a second glance. He liked it that way. Human contact was over rated anyway. Except his boy Shifty. Damn he missed that fool! As he gathered his surroundings he knew that whether he had good or bad fortune down the road, nothing would ever be the same. He could never return to Dukes.

**-Ernesto-**

He thought of his son as he rode up the street, his son Luis. It had been tragic what happened in that bank robbery all those years ago. They were almost inn the clear and he had been wounded and they'd both ended up shooting many of the guards. All their other robbery partners got busted or killed shooting it out with the cops. They'd met up at a rendezvous point in an alley and changed clothes. His son was stubborn as Ernesto had not wanted to leave him but he insisted they should split up. He also wanted his father to give him his guns. He said that he was going to find a good spot to get rid of them.

"You've got priors, papi. If they get you with the murder weapons they'll give you life. At least if you do get caught and you were just robbing it's a parole violation but you got a chance one day. I aint planning to get caught and neither should you but if we do, I'll beat this case!"

Ernesto shook his head. "Chale, mijo! You're my son! You wanted to come along I should have kept you out of this! We stick together no matter what! We're Santanas!"

They could hear radio chatter and sirens. They both knew they were fucked. It had been a couple of hours but somebody had snitched. Luis looked at his father with pain in his eyes and said, "I'm sorry, papi! But we Santanas also gotta look after our own! That's what you taught me!"

With that, the younger Santana punched him hitting the older man in the face. He had hit him hard and good he was stunned. He was also surprised as he hit the floor that he had been able to throw such a blow with a couple of bullets in him. Still, he had the blood of an Aztec warrior in him. He blacked out. His son took his cuete from him including the Uzi he had used in the robbery.

They both had gloves so there was no prints but if the gun was found on him, they'd only charge his papi with robbery. Hopefully the older man would be smarter and plea to lesser charges. Luis was his oldest son and Ernesto had him at the young age of 16. Luis himself was only seventeen but he had done a lot of dirt for the cliqua himself. "

"Perdóneme, papá," He whispered words of forgiveness to his father.

The police they had their guns drawn. "Drop your weapon and put your hands on the ground! We can do this the easy way or the hard way!" Luis knew he was screwed. He had no intention of going to prison. He knew his father would be busted too but he would not make it easy for them.

"Fuck you, maricones!" He let off the Uzi and hit two of the officers and the rounds actually did pierce the armor of some he also sprayed at their helmets.

Ernesto woke up to find guns on him. "Do not move!" His vision was blurred but in the alley he could hear automatic fire and muzzle flashes. As they finally hauled him to his feet in cuffs, he saw three cops dead in pools of blood along with his son with at least two dozen rounds in his still bloodied body, his eyes and mouth open on the floor.

"No!" Luis! MIJO! Usted pedazos de mierda! Te voy a matar!"

He shouted. "You could have taken him alive!" He screamed in tears.

As he shook the memory away, he arrived. He spotted his son on the corner slinging to some white boys in a red Admiral, likely college frat boys. He was wearing a St Anthony Steeds jersey over a dark blue T-shirt. The young man was good looking with high cheek bones, deep soulful eyes, brown skin but had his hair cut short like many modern cholos often did into a crew cut. He had a tattoo on his left arm that said PVL.

Some other dope dealers walked up to him. One of them was a black man with medium length hair, a black tank top and gray stone washed jeans. He looked mad. "What did I tell you about slinging on my corner, mang? I told you if I saw you round here again, we had problems, right? This is my corner you hear? You wanna kick taxes we can break bread but I ain't finna have nobody stealing my customers!"

Miguel turned to the dope boy and said, "Must not be your clients anymore. Not my fault they know who the better business man is! I'm heated bro so what do you wanna do about it?"

The dope boy looked at him and snarled, "You got at least three guns on you plus my own see what happens if you try to pull a fast one, dawg! This my hood! Aint nobody gonna trespass round here!"

Miguel didn't back down. "I know some of your butt buddies from LTL were in my varrio doing hit ups and making deals so don't even start!" Ernesto saw the situation was about to walked up to the conflict especially glad for the .44. Miguel made his move. He swung his fist at the guy instead but the guy's friends jumped in and began to rat pack.

Miguel threw one of the dealers of of him and continued to swing on the main one. "Fucker!" He shouted as his fist collided with the black man's teeth. He took three blows from the others as they circled him. He swung back at two of them hitting him with a blow each but they pig piled him kicking him while he was down while the main one punched him. "What's up now, boss? You gonna give me my money? Reimburse me nigga!"

Ernesto gritted his teeth. These fucking vatos. So obnoxious & disrespectful.

They were not fighting fair but they did not notice the veterano approaching with the magnum.

**-Jrue-**

_Welcome to Sunbelt City_, Jrue read the sign as he decided that he'd make another stop. He was bent a few days ago on reaching Cali but now he was like fuck it. He was running low on ganja and his fuel was low. He had only made one stop before he got here and that was in some slow down south town. He had fueled up and drove the rest of the way here. He hadn't taken a shower in almost a week now. The stench made his hybrid three times as uncomfortable.

The only thing keeping his mind off his circumstances was the bag full of CDs he had grabbed from the gas station. They had some Trapzilla, some Ricky Rozay, a few Drake albums, Kendrick Lamar, and some metal. Jrue had just switched a Metallica CD with Drake's, he had skipped right to his song, The Ride. It went through the story of him living with his grandmother and the trials they went through and how he grew because of their struggle. The song basically thanks his grandma on how she loved and helped him reach to the height he occupies now. Good music.

He pulled into a Motel +, a company of motels that was infamous for its unclean beds and terrible service. The motel had a few cars in it. The publicity against them had made it hard for them to attract any customers other than pimps, drug dealers, and prostitutes.

Jrue had gotten his multiple bags and rolled/carried them into the motel. He told the person at the front desk lobby that he needed to stay three weeks. That would give the outta luck tokester enough time to make something out of himself. Jrue had 2,000 in cash and a lot more in his Flisa, the only thing Jrue had kept from Erica's greedy little hands. The room cost 800 for that long and Jrue paid it with no worries in mind. He just needed the sleep. So he dragged his feet towards his new home, threw his shit on the floor and flung himself on the cheap bed that cringed at his weight. At least he could say he was free.

* * *

**STELM: **_**Okay guys what you've just witnessed were the introduction to the three dynamic characters in this magnificent masterpiece created by the sweltering flying fingers of me, Native, and Af. So however you feel about it don't keep it to yourself rave out on the internet by reviewing the shit out of this fic.**_

_**Now that's done I'd like to get into the parodies in this chapter. Jrue's shitty Dilettante Hybrid Funk is a spoof on the Kia Soul. Sexy Pupp Ent is a spoof on the gaming company Naughty Dog. Liberty City University is a spoof on New York University which I toured a little this summer. The Aces are a street gang from Metal Harbingers' Rushmore City. Motel + is a spoof on Motel 8. Soul nation is a GTA adaption of the Peoples Nation. Rushmore city is a GTA version of Washington D by Metal Habringer. Flisa is a spoof on Visa credit cards.  
**_

_**Jrues experience with his girlfriend stems from the Toa of Badass back story. Parts of Jrues toke session with his friends was taken from the "THAT High Guy" video on youttube.**_

_**You all have been great and I've been STELMEd, READ & REVIEW!**_


	2. On the Business End

**STELM: **_**Alright guys back to you just a few days before the launch of GTA V. Hope you guys enjoy it (I have another two weeks until I can get it) and usher in a new age of GTA antics. As for this chapter expect a little more action and the filling out of each of the characters who you will see have a different view on life and way of living it. **_

_**So without further adue the second of chapter of Sunbelt City awaits!**_

* * *

**Caught on the business end…**

**-Jrue-**

"You look nervous. You nervous? Got something to hide?" Boss, Jrue's manager and recent employer asked as the flipped some burgers. It was 5:20pm and the Musty Burger was kind of slow.

"No sir." Jrue said not wanting to fuck up his new job. He had just got it a couple weeks ago. He had been in this city for only a few weeks and he already hated it. He hadn't even found a reliable plug yet. He was running really dry really quickly.

Boss decided that yelling at me wasn't worth it right now so he stumbled off to terrorize somebody else. Jrue prepared his newest masterpiece, a recently ordered Base Burger, with cheese, lettuce, white onions, ketchup, and a flavorless white powder, that was supposed to be the narcotic on top, and wrapped it in aluminum. The closest Jrue had ever gotten to the actual devils powder were the Rails, a cereal you had to snort in lines, that he enjoyed back in the day. It always made him feel like some sort of Donny Fortuna. The unlucky Asian unlike the fictional drug dealer had never shot a gun in his entire life. He never had to.

He handed the burger to the waiting customer. As Jrue handed the greasy burger to the man he barely managed to stifle his laughter. The low budget customer wore gold rimmed sunglasses, a purple suit, with a green tie. As he grabbed the paper bag Jrue could see the gold shining through his chapped lips. Jrue hadn't seen a grill outside of AAET so it kind of had him star struck. Jrue couldn't afford to just stand around so he busied himself by wiping off the occasionally dirty cashier counter. He moved his arms in the motion of Tyler the Creator's Slater. It wasn't his favorite song, but after you hear the album 3x a day you kind of get a special feeling for each song. That's when I smelled something still new to me, Boss.

"Is that how you clean yo fucking house lil nigga?" Boss said spittle flying out his mouth and crash landing on Jrues pock marked cheeks.

"Yes sir." Jrue said as he continued to wipe the counter down.

"Well that's not… how I clean up… in my restaurant! I'm Boss!" The Musty Burger manager said beating his chest angrily. The spittle kept flying out of his flapping maw. _Did this guy live off sunflower grains or something? Fucking asshole._

"You want something to clean up here!" Boss said as he spat out a large amount of mucus, food particles, and saliva on the table, wiping his mouth with his tacky black jacket. Jrue reached to wipe the counter but the enraged employer took a bottle of ketchup and squirted it on top of the biological mess he had created. Jrue obediently wiped the counter off with a second wet rag, looking at the clock. He had an hour and a half before he could clock out. _This was getting ridiculous, yet these were things things I'd do for minimum wage._

"Is that fucking problem lil nigga?" Boss asked getting mere inches from the low class workers face.

"No sir." Jrue said confidently as he finished wiping the counter. He threw the rag in the soaking bucket, swearing not to reach his hand in there anymore today. Boss was still at the counter looking at Jrue and his clock, tapping his foot at a rapid pace on the tiled floors, while giving the Asian Stoner the stupidest look.

"If I was a customer you would be dead by now okay?" Boss said as he cocked his glock and held it centimeters from the young Asian's nose. Lionel, the only other employee who clocked in today, dropped a basket of fries when he saw the glock being pulled out. Jrue's heart dropped so fast he thought he was gonna shit it out.

"Okay... sir." Jrue complied, his hands rose. In response Boss put his gun back into his waist and covered it with his coat. The customers' reaction was no different from Jrue's. You couldn't enjoy a musty burger when you could witness a murder a few feet away.

"You need to stop tryna be Bruce Lee with the fucking burgers and quit your little running for rookie of the year. I'm the burger king up in this bitch! Okay lil nigga?" Boss ranted as he walked away, Jrue really didn't know how to react to the whole being called Bruce Lee but he really could say too much against the man. This was the only way Jrue could afford to stay away from a homeless shelter.

Jrue had managed his next hour carefully, dodging the Boss and staying as close to Lionel as possible. He got the least amount of shit of all the employees that worked here.

Jrue decided to sit down for a second and play some Midly Disturbed Avians seeing as the store was empty right now. He didn't expect his asshole boss to come sliding in on the other side of the booth.

"Hold up lil nigga you think this is a job or game?" Boss asked his scruffy unshaven dark face halfway across the table.

"This is a job." Jrue replied nonchalantly.

"Is this a job or a game?" The mid-30 year old boss asked the fairly new employee when he pulled out his infamous Glock 40.

"That's a job." Jrue noticed and he slowly readied himself for his own demise, this guy was a fucking ticking time bomb.

"Cause this looks like an OPTION to me." Boss said his face stone cold serious one second. The next second he was laughing and shaking his head, "I'll get you straight one of these days lil nigga."

Jrue watched his boss walk off towards Lionel who was working hard to make one the restaurants famous Cream pies. The tyrant, "Boss", stopped in front of the young employee and stalked menacingly around the him, Jrue didn't know what the fuck was about to go down. Seconds later the "Boss" had his index finger drug through the pie. He sucked his grease stained fingers and gave the shocked Lionel his best shit eating grin before walking off.

The LCU graduate wasn't going to let that slide. Lionel looked to be on the brink of tears. The cream pie took a good hour or so to make properly.

"Hey I saw you take a taste of that pie!" Jrue said a head full of anger as he "violently" tapped the bosses shoulder. His employer turned around quite confused before he wrapped his hands around the short Asian.

"Listen lil nigga you work for me!" Boss started pieces of the recently consumed cream pie were flung Jrue's way , Jrue, who could do nothing to stop the onslaught of bad breath and bad flossing stood there,

"I'm Boss! You see that?" Boss said pointing to his nametag which literally read "Boss". _Fucking tool.  
_  
"Burger Shot don't got shit on me so you can either get down or get down lil nigga!" Boss said angrily shaking Jrue by his throat angrily. Jrue thought that the Vet would kill him right then and there.

"And this nigga! He look like a Burger Shot nigga! You a Burger Shot nigga?" Boss asked the lone customer who had just walked in the store. Jrue was almost 95% sure he wasn't a Burger Shot nigga.

"You look like one of them Burger Shot niggas! Come here and get shot!" Boss exclaimed jumping over the counter. The young guy turned around to flee but he was too late. Boss had cocked his glock once again.

POW POW

"Ahhhh! You shot me you fucking prick!" The young guy exclaimed as he hit the ground with a thud and a welp.

"Musty Burger kill them all!" Boss exclaimed he just wouldn't let it stop. He dragged him out the restaurant and beat him with the gun's handle, relentlessly. The teen screamed in agony but the vet wouldn't stop, he was a savage.

"Imma clock out." Jrue told Lionel as he went back to grab a Donut Burger he had prepared for himself earlier. The employee looked in horror as he witnessed teenagers collect around the beating with their phones on record.

Jrue left out the back; he could hear the ambulance sirens wail as he walked the streets of Sunbelt back to the Motel + that had homed him for the last few weeks. He had a good 30 minutes to walk at a calm pace. All he had in his pockets was a wallet with enough money to buy something from Cluckin Bell, his hotel key, a half pack of cigs, his Dilleante's keys, and his driver's license.

He had decided to park his car in a further away parking lot today. He felt the walk would let him give him a chance to soak in some of the local people. He soon regretted it.

A well known member of the Rock Bottom Family set operating in Sunbelt City was posted up on the block, along with a few of his partners in crime. They threw up some sets and the Asian ignored them, he couldn't stop the youth from their self destruction so he wouldn't try to. That was their parent's job. Some locals also recognized the gang as the Juice Top Mob, referencing the popular flattop w/ the juice cut fad that many of the younger members had adopted. The red and green clad individual was known to Jrue as Chip. He had walked into the store a few times with his friends and they recognized him by that name. His name and set was also tagged on a building behind the fast food restaurant.

"How you livin bluhh? You tryna cop some loud?" The teenager asked as Jrue crossed the street to his Dillente Funk. Jrue knew these types of guys. They say it's loud but as soon as you look close it's some low class shwag brick weed "fresh" from the border. _Full of sticks and seeds and nothing I need_. These kids were just slinging just to sling, not for the love of the quality of bud.

"Nah I'm straight man." Jrue said as he got in his car and pulled off.

-Barry-

Barry was driving in a black Cavalcade. It wasn't long before he was back to his usual schemes. It took him about a minute to break into the Sports Utility Vehicle and disarm the alarm. He had wanted to change. He really had but this seemed to be about all he could do for that Federal Reserve. He was after all, a dirty Libertonian and a stick up kid, a two bit hustler; all that ole bullshit was on his resume.

Now as he was rolling through early night Sunbelt, he had the radio station on Throwback FM, an old school Hip Hop station. The song I Know I Can by Nas played. "Yeah! Now that's what I'm talking about!" He exclaimed decided he needed something to drink. Barry felt that West Coast rap was too laid back, too focused on marijuana with all the blunts and lowriders. There's nothing honest. There's no trouble in it, you know? There's no hardship in it. Everyone in the west coast that raps has a lowrider and a fat blunt. Back on the east coast we're still walkin and still smokin dirt. There was no hardship in their rap. Nothing that you could relate to.

So he was glad to hear his slap from Nas. He began to sing along to the radio as he drove. "I know I can, be what I want to be if I work hard at it'll be what I want to be!"

He pulled up to a mini mart and got out. He walked inside and looked seeing the store was run by Pakistani immigrants. Luckily, unlike back home, he didn't have him around as though he were going to steal from them. "How you doing?" He said to the man. "Salaam Aliekem."

The man greeted him back. "Wa alaikum... You speak Arabic?" He grinned. "Just a little bit. I was in on the teachings for a while but I kinda fell off."

The man said, "No worries, friend. You will find your path again. Now what can I get you?" He felt ashamed to try to get any beer so instead he just said, "Um...you guys got Sprunk here?" He pointed him in the right direction. "Is straight back next to the beer aisle."

He went back there and tried to decide what he wanted. He decided on a two liter of Sprunk. He bent down to get it and just then the store bell rang and he heard cursing. "All right none of you move a goddamn muscle or so help me I will blow your ass to kingdom come!"

He peered around the side of the aisle. Four armed men had come in. All of them were white. One had on a ski mask and carried a huge Magnum. He was extremely fat. Not just fat but obese. Another wore a hat with the confederate flag on it as well as a red bandanna to cover the lower part of his face. This man carried an H&K G36. The other two, one as a bald man who was scrawny and he wore a camouflage jacket, cargo pants, and army boots. He also had a mask on. The last guy had on a confederate flag do-rag and a red bandanna over his face as well.

_Wrong place, wrong time._

**-Ernesto-**

He put the gun to the back of the dealer's skull. "You aint gonna bum rush my son, ese. You want to fight him one on one that's fine but if you're gonna play unfair like a punk I can shoot you like one."

The man said, "I don't know you! I don't got a fight with you either. I got a fight with this janxy ass bitch. You don't sling here & and expect to just walk out like its all good! It ain't all good! Fuck all yall little Latin bitches."

Ernesto told him, "You got a fight with my son; you take him on like a man or not at all. I can blow your brains all over your own corner or you can take your homeboys home."

Miguel also shouted, "Bring it on, bitch. And I ain't no fucking Latin or Hispanic, cuervo! That's like me saying you're a limey cause you speak English. Soy Chicano. Mayan, pendejo and don't you forget it. We're natives and your hood is in our land so you're trespassing, "

Ernesto said, "¡Cállate! Estas personas son estúpidas ¿de verdad crees que obtendrían nuestra raza correcta? Si nos quieren el nombre de los conquistadores llaman, allá ellos. Decimos que son hombres blancos con pelo rizado y piel negro, ¿no?" _(Shut up! These people are stupid do you really think they'd get our race correct? If they wanna call us the name of the conquistadors, let them. We say they're white men with curly hair and black skin, don't we?)_

The guy who had been causing the trouble said, "Hold the fuck up. What did he just say to you? I heard a word I don't know if I should have in there!" Miguel said, "Shut the fuck up! He's trying to save your ass from a pine box."

The black man laughed saying, "Him save me? Motherfucker's crazy. Funniest thing I heard in a long time. You think you Donny Fortuna? Your shit!"

Miguel turned back to Ernesto, "Paito, yo no soy un puto español que me enseñó mejor que eso. Hablamos el idioma porque Cristóbal Colón y sus conquistadores llegaron a México durante su tercer viaje y masacraron a nuestro pueblo y obligaron al resto de asimilar. Tú y mamá me enseñó eso. Nuestra verdadera historia. Estamos Indígena." _(Dad, I'm not a fucking Spaniard you taught me better than that. We speak the language because Christopher Columbus and his conquistadors came to Mexico during his third voyage and massacred our people and forced the rest to assimilate. You and mama taught me that . Our true history. We are Indigenous.)_

Ernesto reasoned, "Entonces, ¿qué nos importa a ellos? Ellos ni siquiera saben quiénes son. Theyre perdió. Así que ¿por qué los que saben lo que somos? Ese no es el punto! No tenemos tiempo para esto," _(So what is that to them? They don't even know who they are. They're lost. So why would they know what we are? That is not the point! We do not have time for this. )_

He said, "We can deal with it another time. Does your mother know you're out here slinging? She'd find a way to blame me for it, even if that makes no sense."

One of the dealer's friends, a black man with cornrows, aimed a Glock 19 at him saying, "Man, fuck that! I say we drop this pussy right now. You'd better drop that cannon, or you ain't going anyplace but the fucking cemetery feel me?"

Ernesto shrugged. "They'll need to dig a hole for four cause I'll kill all of you before you shoot my son. You guys are chavalas. We've all been in rat packs and gang fights but when that becomes the rule not the exception? Mas puto! At least my son tried to fight fair."

One of the three dealers called to the man Ernesto had a gun on "Richard, we can't...we can't shoot him. Not today, man. He's a somebody. I can't explain it but trust me on that, brah. Just trust me on that. He's got a lot of respect around the city, maybe even around the state. We cap him, we might just have beef and we ain't banging, bro."

The man looked at him and said, "You serious?" The man held up his hands putting the gun down. "I'm not a punk, Rich. I'm going to explain everything. We don't want to get into some shit like this. Not yet bruh. Old man, take your kid and go. And don't let him come back out here!"

The man known as Richard looked to his homies and yelled, "Stow yo piece nigga!" The thug with the cornrows and shades did as he asked. "It ain't over though, mayne. We'll be coming to find you."

Richard looked at Miguel and told him, "You just keep from around here, you got it? If you ain't buying you ain't here," Ernesto lowered the gun and the man backed up but he said, "You...whoever you are. You ain't the only one around here that knows niggas. So if you come 'round here again, I'll fuck you up. Same goes for your son. I got swag for days and niggas with K's who'll blaze on yo bitch ass. So you come in my hood again, I'll bury you."

Ernesto scowled before leaving but said, "Your 'hood' is on my land, joto. And if you try to fuck with my family for any reason I will kill you in your own neighborhood for all to see. I was shooting cuetes when you were still popping rubber bands, ese. I've got more experience than you."

Richard yelled, "That's right, bitch boy! Go home to daddy! Maybe he can wipe your ass for you too? And your mama can cup your balls while he does that!" Miguel shouted back, "Shut the fuck up, cono. You're just jealous I have a father and yours probably left before you were born."

The man was obviously angered by that and shouted something back but they were just out of ear shot so neither could understand what had been said.

He grabbed Miguel by the ear and snapped, "¡Rápido! ¿Qué crees que estás haciendo, pedazo de estúpido?" _(Move it! What do you think you're doing, you stupid little man?)_

Miguel cried out in pain. "Papi, let me go!" He broke free and yelled, "Who do you think you are, man? You haven't been around in years and now you come back to the hood and suddenly you're the man?" Ernesto corrected him. "No, mijo I was always the man. That hasn't changed. Maybe Sunbelt needs a little remainder who I am, but at least that chanate knew what's up. Now give me your car keys! We're taking you home."

The youth shook his head. "No. I'm not your little boy anymore. I'm 18. I can take care of myself. I hustled all these years without you I don't need help now! Where were you, when guys like this tried to punk me? You were locked up while I was still just a kid. Yeah, you were around the first eight years but where were you after that? Taking the fall for Luis's fuck up?"

Ernesto smacked the 18 year old youth in the face, giving him some good old fashioned discipline. "Remember one thing, pendejo, I may have been locked up these last eight years and gone for ten but I'm still your father. You are never too old to put over my knee. Now give me the goddamn keys."

Ernesto handed him the keys and said, "I fucking hate you," While getting into the passenger seat. As they drove, Ernesto said, "You hate me, huh? Well that's just fucking great! What a welcome home this is! I guess you and your mother have something in common, don't you?"

Miguel sulked looking out the window. "I hate her too. And I know you do too. I'm only staying with her till I have enough cash to get a place of my own. I wanted to move out on my 18th birthday right away but didn't have enough feria. I hate her for splitting the whole familia up."

Ernesto said, "I know you're angry son, but your mom is doing the best that she can. Just because we no longer love each other doesn't mean we stopped loving you! You're the only one left. The youngest the only one that didn't move out. Of course she wants to protect her baby. That's why I'm surprised she doesn't know what you've been up to."

Miguel scoffed, "That makes two of you. When I get the money I'm putting this city in the rear view mirror and leaving this place forever. I don't need either one of you. If you're lucky I'll talk to you. You're an asshole for hitting me but it isn't your fault you got locked also isn't your fault mom divorced you. But her? I ain't talking to her ever again. She's always trying to force me to go to college like stupid Carmen or Angela or go work for Lupe. I don't want to do any of that. I maybe the youngest but I ain't a baby anymore."

Ernesto sighed. "Maybe if I'd been around to hit ..." He then said, "I'm joking son. Calm down. Maybe If I'd been there for you, you would want to go to college like them. I'd always taught your older brothers and sisters to be better than me, to not follow the same steps as he did. Now here you are doing the same thing. You were too young. I tried to teach you as much as I could from the time you were a baby to the time I went away but then your mami moved you back here and you got involved in the street life."

Miguel shook his head. "Mom wanted me to get a day job and I did but my boss was a fucking asshole. Fucking fat German American gringo I wanted to shoot him so bad. Eso hijo de puta was always breathing down my neck, always watching to see if I made the slightest mistake. She tried to get me to go to church too. I know she always believed in that bullshit even though you didn't."

Ernesto chuckled, "What, God? Of course, mijo. I always have. I just don't believe in the Judeo Christian view of God. Our people knew the creator long before they ever brought a bible or a crucifix here. We called God Ometeotl. That was the creator. Not a man or a woman but still, that was our word for God. If I was to want you to have a spiritual upbringing it'd be learning the traditions not the bible but like you keep saying, I haven't been around..."

He paused only a moment then offered, "If you want, I can teach you all about many of the Aztec gods. Mayan too. A lot of the so called Gods were actually just demigods or deities representing natural earth elements but some Gods were both actual beings as well as the elements they represented. Our people had a complex belief system but it is beautiful and I will teach you all about it if you want to learn. When you have eight years to kill, you do a lot of reading."

**-Jrue-**

_Back at Motel +…_

"Yah I'm here." Jrue said before he set the motel phone down.

He had hit rock bottom a while ago and this was the fifth time this hooker had called hit him up. This cute Hispanic chick by the name of Rocky. She wasn't one of those Central American girls who could barely speak English. She was different; she had been in America for a while and had taken in a 'no worries' attitude common to many stoners across the globe.

The two hit it off as soon as the she smelt some of the weed he had been smoking from out of his hotel room. From then the 19 year old pointed the outta luck Asian in the direction of multiple different plugs. Jrue had been smoking on some tolerable mids for the last week, kinda made it easier to deal with "Boss".

For the last few hours he had off of work he'd been masturbating, eating some chips, smoking a bowl full, and more recently playing an old game he had beaten several times before, Super Barrio Bros 3. He was at the ending cut scene and he had sat his controller down in another regardless victory.

"Honkey Bong? Do you think I give a shit about that fucking gringo hippy? Fucking maricone took our bitch and we fucked up a lot of his goons, spent a lot of our money, and risked our fucking asses to get her back!" Macario said still in his seat, as if he wasn't on a rampage. Lorenzo and Jrue kenw that it was the coke getting to him.

"But that's what we do! That's our job!" Lorenzo exclaimed, this is when Macario loses it. Then he goes on his famous rant.

"Wooah… Woooah…Excuse me motherfucker. I'm a plumber! That's my job ever since La Onda got me out the Pinta loco. I plumb shit! I never asked for any of this hero saving chicas bullshit! Last time I tried to save that chola I lost my fucking eye Lorenzo, or did you forget that shit? I'm not saving her I'm done." Macario said ashing his cig and getting up from the table.

"You know what fuck it! I'll go without!" Lorenzo said putting on his trademark brown leather jacket.

"Without? Little vato you need me! Super Barrio Brothers mi hermano." Macario said fitting himself in his black leather jacket.

"Brothers! Super Barrio Brothers! One Barrio two brothers! At least that's what we used to be! I don't know wh the fuck you are vato? The coca changed you. The feria changed you. The chicas changed you!" Lorenzo exclaimed putting on his green hat.

"You know what changed me. I grew cojones vato! I grew em! I get all kinds of chicas and you're stuck on one chica! I'm the cholo that you're not good enough to be. You ain't nothing but a secondary cholo. Secondary! After me! That's all you are! When you die that's how all these gringos, theses mayates, and these cholos gonna remember you, secondary! You're nothing without first, me." Macario said putting on his red hat. That's when Lorenzo pulled out his gun on his own brother. The screen gets fuzzy and somebody in the hearable background says "Midas Locos mothafucker!"

POW POW POW POW POW POW

The screen faded to gray as the protagonist are seen getting ready to shoot the unknown assailant. This always made Jrue feel like a boss. The end of the trilogy was just so climatic it made Jrue just wanna…

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Jrue jumped off the bed, sending chips flying and porn magazines sliding off the bed. This had to be either the Midas Locos or Rocky. Jrue was betting on the latter.

"Come in." Jrue said as he opened the door. He had been in his boxers and beater ever since he got in the hotel room. Rocky wouldn't mind she was gonna have to suck him off for free anyway. She owed him some bud or some brain. He was gonna get one of the two before the night was over.

"Living like a king huh?" The petite pecan colored Bolivian said as she saw the video games, the porn, the chips, Jure was a mess.

"Shut up." Jrue said as he flopped on the couch to watch some TV. She'd get around to the sex part, he knew it.

"Well I found it." Rocky said as she waltzed around the room. Jrue couldn't help but look.

"Found what?" Jrue asked now quite concerned about what she found.

"I found a guy." Rocky said, being none to specific.

"A weed guy?"

"An a lot of weed guy." Rocky replied confident in her contact.

"Nice bud?" Jure asked concerned on the quality of bud. He stopped smoking Reggie in High School and this city was known for having a large brick weed quantity right from those piss poor growers down in Mexico.

"If I'm fucking with him of course!" Rocky said mildly insulted.

"So you got my bud from last time?" Jrue asked wondering what he'd get out of this question.

"I have a blunt and a half I saved from yesterday. Alohaberry from one of my contacts in the pacific. Wanna spark up with me and I'll give you a G tomorrow?" Rocky asked her baby eyes almost irresistible.

"What else are you going to do? Other than smoke me up?" Jrue asked knowing what she'd have to offer.

"You'll find out. Put some clothes on before we go out. You look dead." Rocky said as she plopped her stoner ass on the cushioned chair that Jrue usually watched porn in. Pussy comes in slow when you don't know any spots or girls to call up.

Jrue didn't answer he just let Rocky play some Shaft Raider on Jrues new LX30. The sounds of Mora Cunt taking blows to the head couldn't have sounded better  
or more arousing. Her bobbing tits on the screen made me think of the fun Rocky and I could have on our trippy adventure.

**-Ernesto-**

As the Ernesto and his son pulled up to his ex-wife's house they bid farewell for the time being and exchanged info. "I'm back for good now, mijo. So don't go too far."

He got out of the car and gave Miguel back his keys. Heading back, he hailed a cab ready to go to a motel and call it a night. He needed to feria to get his own place but for now he had enough saved up to get a room. A cabbie of Punjabi ancestry pulled up. "Oye, can you take me to the Pacific Inn on 1500 N loop W freeway?" The man nodded saying, "Yes but what is zip code?" It had been a while so Ernesto closed his eyes and it came back to him. "77009."

The man began to drive out that way. Ernesto called Flaco. Even after all this time he still remembered the number. "Oye, Flaco. So I appreciate you telling me where he was. We resolved the issue. For now at least. I don't like Miguel being down there around those fuckers in the 3rd ward or 5th ward. I wouldn't piss on them if they were on fire."

Flaco laughed. "I know. Those fucking levas. To hell with them, bro. Nothing there but a bunch of wannabes that ain't about shit. They don't know what the delio is with us South Siders! Anyway, you know where I live right? Come drop by my place tomorrow I can help you make some deniro. The streets missed you, compa. Time to show these pee wees how veteranos run this town, que no?"

Ernesto nodded. "Orale, hermano. I will drop by there manana. Hasta que nos encontremos de nuevo. Later perro."  
**  
**The cabbie had the radio station on DISS FM, the contemporary Hip Hop station. "DISS FM. Home of new school Hip Hop," Aye dios mio. _What the fuck has the world come to? Doesn't anybody have any talent anymore? Whenever I heard swag I could only think of the word it rhymes with._ He missed the old school rappers and the oldies of the 50's even. The song Only Just A Dream by Nelly played.

The cabbie said to him, "Third ward and Fifth ward is in bad neighborhoods buddy. So is this motel you are asking me to take you to. I'd be careful if I was you. Lots of bad people out there on the streets. If you value your life, next time you may want to pick a different motel!"

He laughed to himself on the inside. _If you only knew you got that kind of 'bad element' in the back of your car, homie!  
_  
He did not say this however. He politely said, "I know, but it's not like I get much of a say in it you know? I'm just back in town. That's what I can afford at the moment," The Indian driver said, "Hey tell me about it my friend. I come to this country from Mumbai and I thought I'd make more money than this but it seems every time I think I will the price goes up!"**  
**  
Ernesto smiled at the words of the friendly cabbie. "Not all it's cracked up to be. My familia has known that for years. This state has been a state and country on its own and has been three different countries at different times."

The man smiled. "You are other kind of Indian, yes? Like they show in history books! I hear your Christopher Columbus discovered America but was actually looking for India!" Ernesto chuckled. "Well you're more or less right about all of that except that one part. He didn't discover nada. The real discovery was the Tainos found that punk lost at sea, que no?"

The man listened and said, "Yes, sadly what has happened and what has been written are two different things. It is sad but the victor is always the one to write the history. As I tell my sons, war does not determine who is right but who is left!" The gang member said, "That's pretty bleak. But they haven't won yet. We're still here, enit?"

The man started to say, "Yes, well as..." Ernesto nearly had a heart attack as several shots hit the window and he ducked down as a SUV rolled by and two men shot the cab up. One fired five shots with the other let off four. The cabbie was hit three times in the chest and twice in the head. Ernesto got out of the cab as two more rounds were fired, him staying low. The SUV circled around and two men got out.

One was a Caucasian with dark hair and beady eyes and brown facial hair while the other was black, had a shaved head, hoop earrings and wore a white tank top and blue jeans and hinterland boots. The white man wore a black jacket and gray jeans. They were both obvious addicts. "Oh shit," The black dude said. "I hit the wrong guy. Where's he at?"

The white guy grinned. "Richie's paying us in H if we do this guy. Have enough to stay high a week plus change!" The black one had a .22 and the gringo had a .380 Ernesto got his gun ready to fire as he crept to the back. "Fuck that I just want cash. I thought we were gonna kick?" The other said, "We will. After this."

Ernesto rolled out and fired hitting the black man in the side. The powerful magnum blew a huge hole as it tore into him, a hole the size of a kitten. The guy let out a death rattle as he fell to the ground. He fired hitting the other addict. He shot him in the head, making a mess of his face. The 1st one was still alive barely. Holding the smoking .44 he stood over him, "Rich sent you two, eh?"

**-Jrue-**

Jrue put on some baggy black sweatpants, a purple LCU sweatshirt, a 40 oz, and some red Adopees. The quick wit Asian grabbed his MYphone and Rocky turned off the console. They hadn't gotten all the way out of the outside hallways when he heard a lighter spark up behind him. Jrue looked back to see Rocky hit the blunt she had probably rolled during a long red light on the way here. Jrue had learned that Rocky's rolling skills were elite, much like his own.

Jrue slowed down a little to get beside Rocky so he could hit the blunt a few times, he hated a chief. The blunt was passed and Jrue hit a few times. Nothing fancy. He loved to French inhale to get the smoke circulating. He did time with his high school band so his lung compactly allowed him to hold smoke in for several moments before he blew his clouds out. The blunt got passed a few times and the 40 got chugged and passed to wash it down.

By the time they had walked to the parking lot and back both Jrue and Rocky were toasted and pretty drunk. Jrue felt something in his jogging pants pockets. _My MYphone!_

Before either of them knew it they both were back into the hotel room. Unknown to them the whole west side of the motel smelled like dank. Back in Jrue's own room there was a laid out Asian and Rocky playing each other in some game they forgot the name of. Jrue found a crumpled water bottle with a mixture of a small amount hydrocodone cough syrup, codeine, and some peach soda in it.

Jrue and Rocky shared the half water bottle full and smoked the other half blunt Rocky forgot about. They opened the windows and took their shoes off. Jrue had just beat Rocky four times in his favorite game that he STILL couldn't remember the name of when Rocky said something funny and slid his jogging pants down.

Jrue's legs shook in pre-sex euphoria, that and the mixture of drugs and alcohol in his body. The boxers went down second and it goes without saying what went up and who went down next.

"Ohhh ohhh shit!"

**-Barry-**

The store owner pleaded for his life, "Here, you can take all the money in the register, just please don't shoot I have a family!" The one with the dixie hat on yelled to the fat guy, "Go get em, boy! Bring em out front!" He then approached the register. The guy who was bald had a shotgun of some sort. Damn! Why didn't I get myself a gun? Barry wondered to himself as he stayed ducked down. He crept slowly through the aisle hoping to not get caught. The fat redneck with the .500 came out with the hand cannon to a little boy's head.

"Listen up you little weasel shit head! My daddy killed like thirty of you fuckers in Vietnam. Now I didn't come in this little shitty store for no 300 dollars. I want that thing you were supposed to tell us about and don't make like you don't know what the hell I'm talking about!" The man held his hands up saying, "I do not know what you are talking about! You have the wrong man!"

_Shit! If those honkies spot me my black ass is dead. What am I going to do?_ Barry wondered to himself. Just then he spotted a bottle of cheap wine. He picked it up and slowly went around to the candy aisle. He needed to flank the fat fuck. Just then, a Caucasian blonde lady with a doughy face who was equally as fat as the robber, walked in. She saw the men with guns and screamed. The man with the shotgun fired and hit her in her massive stomach. The M3 sent her flying against the magazine rack. Barry was sweating with worry.

The redneck in charge, the one with curly hair grabbed the Pakistani man and shouted, "Now I'm not gonna ask you again! Either you tell us where it is or I have Ethan here shoot your fucking son!" The man in the confederate flag do-rag shouted, "What in the hell are you thinking? You lost your marbles? No names, you drunken sum bitch!"

The man with the magnum shouted to the clerk, "We already killed a lady because of you, man. You have till the count of three to fork over that fucking ticket along with the money in the register or you'll be putting this little shit in a tiny box in the bone yard!"

The man finally said, "Okay, fine!I give up! Here you go! You happy!" He handed over what looked like a lottery ticket. As Barry crept closer to the fat man he was glad that none of the robbers had checked the security camera that most convenience stores had up front or they would see him too. He handed it to the man in the confederate flag do-rag and said, Make sure that's the right one!" He checked and he said "Are you blind, man? Of course it is! I should be running this thing not you. You're dumber than a blind mule!"

Just then, the clerk pulled out a pistol of his own. He fired several shots hitting the fat man without hitting his own son. The fat man took five in the stomach and three more in the head. Oh shit! Barry nearly jumped out of his skin. The other three robbers unloaded on the poor bastard especially the man with the G36. He fired at least ten rounds into the immigrant's chest. A round also hit the poor guy in the side of the head as well. The man's wife screamed loudly and the man with the hat said, "Fucking shit! I don't believe this! We've gotta get outta here! Ethan!"**  
**  
The bald man who administered the headshot shouted, "You two get in the truck. I'll meet you outside if I ain't out there in one minute you just take off!" The man who was not the leader but seemed to be smartest shouted a demand, "Why what are you gonna do?"

The man backed up saying, "I'm gonna take care of his wife and kid. No witnesses, remember? Just like Mr. Mauser said! Besides that's what that haji gets for fucking shooting Ethan!" The redneck nodded and as he got in the Bobcat, yelled, "Git r' done!"

While the robbers were separated, Barry took his shot. He busted the bottle over the bald man's head. The man hit the ground unconscious and bleeding as the bottle shattered on the floor of the mini mart. Barry disarmed the man and pumped the shotgun firing at the truck as they reversed. The redneck with the H&K fired back at him forcing the Caribbean American hustler to take cover back in the store as the automatic rounds soared behind him and near him shattering the glass of the front door.

They sprayed up the whole store and the woman tackled her child both taking cover on the floor. "Some little pig fucker thinks he can weasel in on our goddamn business! He took Flint's shotgun!" The man in the do-rag yelled, "There's nothing we can do right now! Let's just get out of dodge before the SPD gets here!"

Barry went back in the store helping the woman and child to her rushed to her dead husband both the husband and child crying over the fallen man. Being that he was a fugitive on the run, Barry's first instinct was to run from the store and get out of there fast as he could. It didn't matter what had actually happened. A lady and a store clerk shot dead in a botched robbery in the south? He was in for it!

But then he remembered he had knocked one of them out. He asked the lady, "Are you okay?" and he instantly felt like an idiot for asking her that. He went over to the unconscious robber and kept watch. While, he needed to get out of there and sure as hell couldn't be holding onto the murder weapon, he couldn't just leave this woman and child by themselves. He knew somebody must have called 911 and if they hadn't they would need to be.

He sweated looking at the fallen man, then at the shotgun and then at the dead lady. _What am I going to do now? How are you going to get me out of this one, God? I need a miracle..._

* * *

**STELM:** _**Alright there's another chapter done and thru! Read and Review as always… now onto the parody and inspirations explanations.**_

_**The Rock Bottom Family is a spoof of the Treetop Blood based in Texas. AAET (African American Entertainment Television) is a spoof of BET (Black Entertainment Television). DISS FM radio station is Sunbelt City's rap radio station. Musty Burger is a fake restaurant made by Odd Future. The whole Jrue being at work scene was based off of a skit on Loiter Squad. Boss is visually inspired by Tyler the Creator and Slater is off of his album Wolf. **_

_**Midly Disturbed Avians is a spoof off of my own fic South Harroline and is a spoof on Angry Birds. Donny Fortuna is also a spoof from the after mentioned fic and is a spoof on Tony Montana. Adopees are a spoof on Adidas and MYphones are spoofs on Iphones.**_

**NATIVE GUNz 13: **_**Hope if anybody reads this that you enjoyed this. Need to make a quick authors note for myself. The two junkies Ernesto shot was based on the cast of the movie Gridlock'd with Tupac and Timothy Roth where they were both junkies. Obviously they didn't shoot anybody but I thought it'd be interesting if before Richard made a move on his own he sent two junkies who would ultimately take the fall if they killed him & the South Side Aztcas came for revenge.**_

_**The stuff Miguel said to the dealers from 3rd ward is my own sentiments exactly whenever somebody uses the wrong term. I mean Stelm said he ain't big on terminology but wrong is wrong and is incorrect that's the way I see it.**_

_**By the way, if Miguel was to be visually based on anybody, it would be Michael Pena. Also the shit involving the cab getting shot up is a little bit of a nod to the first chapter of Rushmore City where the same thing happened to the cabbie driving Artie. Also Flaco is based on Emilio Rivera if anybody and as for Marisol, Ernesto's ex I really haven't figured that out yet. Maybe Eva Larue maybe not.**_

_**I also thought that while he did shoot the guy visually inspired by Tupac, it would be interesting to briefly have him alive a moment. Just cause it can be a bit of a cliff hanger. Cause he didn't just finish him off just then he's dying but not dead. Stelm said as far as bloodshed keep it minimal so early on so I did.**_

_**Also Pacific Inn is based on Western Motel and by the way, that was a Gulfton, Houston address Ernesto listed the actual address of the real life Motel.**_

_**Anyway that's all.**_

_**N.G-13**_


	3. Patches of Dark in Sunbelt City

**STELM: **_**In this chapter two of three character finally touch base! In this late night crime filled bonanza you'll see what it means to live and die in Sunbelt City. **_

_**Stay tuned and stay toasted!**_

* * *

**Patches of Dark in Sunbelt City **

**-Jrue-**

"It's a plane, it's a car, it's a boat." Jrue spoke to himself as BEAN FM put Planecarboat by Mac Miller to an end. It was a stoner mecca for blazed beats to drive to. Jrue was more high now than anything as he drove on the right lane…_ I think._

Rocky was on him, by on I meant sucking his dick from the passenger. He was driving to some gas station close by. He needed some more rollups. It was late, really late. The streets were fairly empty expect the random suspicious vehicle or two and the radio's host was going on about his love for some good ole toasted sandwiches.

"Toasted Sandwich… haha." Jrue said to himself as Rocky continued to go down. The two had just talked about moving in with each other. That'd be dope…

_Almost there…._

"Fuck" Jrue said as he bust with pure estacy in Rocky's mouth. Rocky swallowed his babies without getting anything on his pants. That woulda fucking sucked. Rocky was the shit.

"I love that shit." Jrue said as he kept on driving, he was like halfway to the gas station, they were at a red light.

"I know." Rocky said and she started singing to the song that was playing on the radio.

"Know I hit you wit' the drop kick, Marty Jannetty… ha…hahaha." Rocky sung Action Bronson's Rockers featuring Wiz as she leaned back in her seat.

The light was still green when… wait green meant go right? Jrue's hybrid inched forward and before they could get halfway through the intersection a Bobcat cut them off. They had to be going at like… lightspeed. The bobcat was coming from the direction of the gas station.

Jrue picked up his pace and was a little heavier on the pedal. He had been to the same 24/7 gas station plenty of times. The place got robbed on a set schedule. Jrue counted once a month when that the Pakistani got his ass jacked. The guy was always spinning proverbs and whatnot. Some hood rats probably just took the pocket change that lay in that man's cash register, petty money.

Knowing the SBPD they probably would never be found and turned in.

"Fuck those guys were going at like sound speed." Rocky said as her eyes were now peeled on the streets as they covered more and more asphalt. The gas station was a mile or two ahead. It was obvious that something was wrong.

**-Ernesto-**

He contemplated putting another one in the junkie's head. Blood came from his mouth. "Man, I wanted no part of this...this was his idea...I had wanted to kick bro...come on...don't do me like this..." Ernesto briefly considered sparing him but said, "You should have thought of that before shooting at me, maricone. Your two dead bodies will be a warning to that leva."

He checked the white boy for money and he took his cell phone. The guy had about $200 on him. The man still pleaded with him. "Come on, man...I'm only twenty-five. I'm young to die."

Ernesto looked back at the black dude. "You're never too young to die, tinto. But tu sabes, you're not very much a threat to me. I'm gonna take your cuete and the polar bears and be on my way. If you make it, you'd better thank whatever God you believe in. If you don't, kiss a pinche three-leaf clover. One more thing, where does this punk, Richard live? What apartment in the third ward?"

The guy said, "ahhhh man...he just slings there. He live across the street. Yo...over in the white boy's phone...he's got his number, address and everything..."

The man groaned, "Can't you at least...call 911 real quick? Damn...leave a nigga to bleed out..what's the point...? Might as well have finished me off!" He began coughing violently and hacking up more blood. The wound was pretty bad. Ernest said, "Sadly you aint worth another bullet. It's up to fate if you live or die now. Out of my hands. And while I aint killing you I sure as fuck don't have to save your sorry ass. You just hit a cabbie who had nothing to do with this. Now you want sympathy?"

He took the keys off the dead gabacho too and got into the vehicle driving off. He now had a .44, a 380 and a .25 handgun to add to his arsenal. Attempted murder by junkie aside, it wasn't a bad haul for his first day back. He began to drive back to the varrio.

**-Barry-**

Barry was freaking out. He didn't know what he was going to do now. He went back in the store with the smoking shotgun. He walked back inside to check on the family. The mother and child were crying hysterically. He sighed and closed his eyes.

_Shit! Is this how you treat your children, God? I've tried to change, you know as well as I do if I'd killed that man back in Liberty City my soul would be as cursed as it already is that was a good man and these are good people too. Do you ignore their prayers?!_

He sucked in a breath and took his jacket off. Well, if I'm going away for life, Imma do what I can to help these people out. Do a bit of good before I'm either doing life or on death row. He walked up to the wife, whose cheeks were soaked with tears. "Ma'am your kid doesn't need to see this. Put this over him until backup arrives."

It was a nice leather jacket too but material things could not be put above human need. While granted, the damage was already done, there was no need to traumatize the child any further. Every second he looked at his dead father would be the further he would ever be from having a normal life.

Shit, Barry had seen his own pops get gunned down. He knew the feeling. So now, Barry wanted to help these people. The lady tearfully said, "Thank...you... I..." He began to panic. "I gotta get up outta here. They're going to send the cops along and I...I'm in some trouble. I just came in here to get something to drink and then this shit happens...you know what I'm saying...? I wanna help you but look it don't matter if I just helped you or not. If I don't split, I'm going to jail. I'm trying to put all that bad stuff behind me. Your husband knew that."

He heard a vehicle pull up outside. It clearly wasn't the cops because they would have rolled up quickly with sirens and there would have been more than one. He could hear sirens in the distance however. That had to be the rednecks coming back to finish the job.

He checked the ammo of the shotgun. He still had three left. He put the gun back together and waited, his back against the wall, next to the entrance which luckily was guarded by beer advertisements outside. The door opened and a scrawny Asian male and a Central American woman came in. Barry pumped the shotgun and aimed it at their faces. The Asian backed up in fear and said, "God damn it I thought the robbers left! Jesus..."

Barry shouted gruffly at both of them, "We're fucking closed! There's another store about three blocks west of here."

The woman looked at the dead body on the floor. The Asian then asked, "Wait, if you're still here, who were those guys in the truck we just saw speeding away?" The woman nodded. "We heard shots too. We thought it was just the neighborhood but I guess not. Is the clerk okay?"

Barry yelled, "I'm asking the fucking questions here! Now who the fuck are you two? Second, I didn't rob this store. I came in here to get a soda maybe a beer, who knows? That's my business. Then this store gets robbed and shot up by some trigger happy hill billies. I think they were tweaking too. Then, they get away and I'm left here holding the gun so it looks like I jacked these people but I didn't!"

The Asian held up his hands, "All right, man chill. That does make a little more sense but...why are you holding a gun if you didn't rob the place?" Barry explained, "Because, I was trying to help these people out here. See that dude over there on the floor? This is his shotty. I knocked him out with a bottle. So maybe the cops will have somebody to arrest when they get here, maybe they arrest us both I really don't know."

The woman sniffed saying, "Yes, he did help. He kept his head down for a bit to avoid getting shot but he helped as soon as he could," The man looked behind the register and saw the fallen man. He went to go touch the jacket and the woman with him said, "No, papi, don't touch it! You'll leave finger prints on it and they're finger you for it. Haven't you ever seen Science Of Crime?"

He rolled his eyes. "Nobodies gonna get arrested plus I hate that show. It's forensically boring plus most of my forensic science friends like it either. Besides this is just the jacket. Any good Samaritan could have covered him up," He lifted it up and looked at the dead body. "Oh fucking Jesus...I think I'm gonna throw up...holy fuck...you weren't playing..."

The woman, who Barry made to be a hooker, eyed the two other corpses and the knocked out guy. "Who's the gorda? Was she killed with the shotgun too?" Barry nodded. "That's what I'm telling yall! I didn't think I just grabbed it in the spur of the moment without even realizing that could be the rest of my life down the drain. My instincts just kicked in. Anyway, the fat guy got done by the husband. He had a piece in case shit like this happened. He shoots tubs, and the others lit him up. I knocked this nigga right here out but I don't know when he'll be coming to."

The younger man asked, "Why don't we just let the cops come? Give them your statement, clear your name? I can throw the shit I got on me but I don't want nobody to get hooked for murder." Barry sighed. "I'm wanted for some shit back in Liberty. I shouldn't be telling ya'll this but shit you got a street walker with you so you aint in much place to judge," The woman shot him an offended look. "Hey, fuck you!" He scoffed, "Come on girl, you ain't fooling anybody with a body like that. Look, I ain't a saint, pretty far from it but I aint supposed to go down like this. I really wasn't here for no trouble."

The Asian man said, "Well...shit, we can give you a ride. Come with us. We'll give you a lift out of here," Barry was sweating. "I don't know, man I think I need to get outta town or something. Cause if the pigs get hold of that video camera, they'll know where I'm at. Can you drop me at he airport?" The Pakistani woman went to the back and came out with something, a disc in hand. "Here. Take this for now. I understand your concern and I appreciate you trying to help us. I'll tell police the robbers take it."

The Asian said, "Look, don't look a gift horse in its mouth, bro. We can get you out of here before the cops even show up. If you don't want a ride you'd better make a quick choice cause I hear sirens. I'm not sticking around for them to show up you ain't the only one who's uncomfortable with the law when it's against. I used to think the police were all right till I've had them pull guns on me. And this was back east. I don't even wanna know just how bad they can get out here!"

Barry looked at him and said, "Aight, I'll trust you but don't try nothing funny. For my own protection, I got a shotgun and..." He pulled out the .500 and said, "This motherfucker right there. The only reason I'm even trusting ya'll is you from out of state. That's at least earned you the benefit of the doubt."

"Chill my man I'm not gonna fuck you. Trust me." The Asian man said while he grabbed a few rolling papers, some chips, and a 40 oz. The three accessories of murder walked outside and towards a hybrid.

They got into the vehicle, Barry riding in the back. He set the guns next to him in the back. They took off, pulling out of the parking lot as fast as that piece of shit would go. As they rolled up the street, several cop cars rolled up to the store. The lady met them out front, her tears still fresh. Barry thought to himself, _I really do wish I could do more for her but I can't. Poor lady. Poor bastard, man that guy was nice!_

**-Ernesto-**

Ernesto pulled up to Flaco's house. The Mexican banger was having some sort of BBQ that had started earlier in the night. "Q Vo, ese? You scoop up your son?"

Ernesto nodded. "Ran into a little trouble on the way but we're good," There were several other cholos there and even two cholas. Many of them Ernesto did not know because they were a younger generation of South Side Aztecas. There was a young teenager getting his hair shaved off with clippers by another equally young banger. Ernesto observed as he walked onto Flaco's porch.

"What's that about, hermano? What's with all these pee wees these days shaving their heads like that? Remember the good old days? 70's and 80's when cholos wore their hair with pride?" Flaco shrugged. "I don't know, bro. It's new trend. I'm not really too big on how the cholas will dye their hair blonde, fucking bleach and shit? That would have never happened back in my day. That white washed shit. Red hair was one thing but never ever blonde!"

Marcus "Flaco" Gonzales ranted, "I blame that puta, Beyonce. Stupid bitch aint even raza but first she gets her own gente doing that and then our own do it? Vine wood beauty standards que no? If a woman can't look in the mirror and see her own natural black hair as beautiful and be proud of who she is, then why should any man be proud to call her his woman? Sabes que, maybe it aint just stupid pop stars like her but maybe a lot of women in Vinewood. Making looking like Nordic trash the thing to be?"

One of the Ese's getting, the one with a joint in his mouth and clippers in his hand said, "She's tri racial but she looks mostly black till she became rubia. Guess that just makes her a southern white girl with a big ass que no?" This got some laughter from the cholos yet scowls from the girls, neither of which had bleached their hair. Flaco looked disgusted and spat saying, "Chales, fool I wouldn't fuck her with your dick! Or Lady Gaga's for that matter!" This got laughter from both the cholos and cholas.

He handed Ernesto a cold Cerveza Baracho and had one himself. Ernesto clinked bottles with him saying, "Mira, to the old school, homie!" He took a swig and let out a satisfied, "Ahhh..." Ernesto leaned in close whispering, "Escucha, ese traficante que estaba jugando con mi hijo, que tenía un tiro de matarlo, pero no lo hizo y envió un par de adictos a tratar de matarme. Tuve que poner a ambos. Pensando en ir tras él a continuación." _(Listen, that dealer that was messing with my son, I had a shot to kill him but didn't and he sent a couple of junkies to try and kill me. I had to lay them both out. Thinking of going after him next. )_

Flaco told him in a whisper back, "Wait a day or so. Catch him off guard. Maybe he thinks you're dead. Gives him an advantage, right?" Ernesto shrugged. "I guess," He said stepping back with the beer in hand. "Hey by the way, what's up with those putos from SWC still spraying up Soul Nation symbols and numbers along with trece, man? I remember them doing that before I moved to San Andreas and they still haven't been taught a lesson? They need to either keep the 113 and drop the 5 or vice versa but if they do the latter we're kicking them outta Gulfton. Serio, home."

Flaco told him, "They've been getting shot. Sad to say brown on brown violence is still up, just black on brown is too and that gets the head lines. As far as the Cholos go, I don't know, Ernesto, I mean other Azteca varrios have made them feel the pressure but they still don't do what we say," He then smiled wickedly and said, "But before, we didn't hit them in the name of La Onda. You're a member on the streets, man. You're a certified member both in San Andreas and in this state. You got a rare privilege, compa. I say we use that."

Ernesto nodded. "Yeah, that I am. It's been a long time though. I mean I represented plenty in San An but out here, that's another story. It's only cause mi jefito started the Onda chapter out here in 84' that I was able to be part of both. That and I've been to prison before out here as well but I only did a year. That was back before I first met Marisol. Nowadays, I aint sure."

Flaco insisted, "Come on, homie you know you got respect all across the board. You're back now. It's time to take back the city, hell the state! New Austin happens to be a south-western state if you want to get technical about it. It's also in the heart land which makes it midwest so if Onda and all South Side cliquas have trouble getting respecto it's cause we got an influx of Carcer City gangs too. Fucking Kin and Soul Nation. We need to show those We-Are-The-World shit heads know how real Chicanos bang."

In saying this he was referring to the fact that both Kin and Soul abandoned the traditional gang structure of banding with your culture or nationality and had multi racial gangs within their alliances. "I mean, obviously those levas are gonna end up in the pinta at some point. They think that rainbow hippie shit is gonna fly in there, home? This aint Carcer County Jail. Our prisons don't run like theirs do. That's why moon pies & kin cans are bitches. Others might respect them but we don't have to. Now anyway, there's a puto named Franco over in the SWC hood just a few blocks over. You know where those panochas hang out. Go teach them a lesson. Try to leave Franco alive if you can. If not, waste the fucker."

Ernesto walked back to the vehicle and got in. It took him some recalling to find out the hood the set trippin bitches claimed. Eventually he found it and he drove up the street slow, watching. He pulled up to a hot spot and got out. There was a few gang members on the corner chilling. He demanded, which one of you is Franco?" A man who was clearly American Indian and a member of the Cholos said, "Nigga, who the fuck are you?" Ernesto asked, "A concerned citizen. And what did you just call me? Don't call me nigga, ese! Take a look in the mirror. I think you're a little confused."

The guy, Franco, had his hair cut short and had a white T-shirt with an Emerald City Seamen jersey on. He also had a red snap back on backwards with stonewashed jeans and new white and red sneakers. "Hell no! I aint no Mexican. I'm red not brown, Pure and simple. Real talk!" Ernesto was already getting tired of this young ignorant fool. "We're part of this continent too, pendejo. Same people. We aint red either that's a stereotype. Or did you not pass your history class to find that out?"

The guy sneered, "Whatever, old man! The fuck you want?" One of his homies, a Chicano dressed in a gray bandanna, black basketball shorts, and a San Andreas jersey said, "Who's this punk, Franco? You want me to get him up outta here?"

Ernesto from inside the vehicle said, "Listen up, your cliqua? We've been on bad terms with them for a long time. There's a reason for that. You either need to represent the trece or take it off. We can't have you using Soul nation symbols as well as South Sider. Sends the wrong message."

The kid, Franco said, "I don't give a mad fuck! You aint in Los Santos, brah. This is my city. Nobody tells us what to do. I'll tag up what I want, and I'll wear what ink I want. Shit, I even got homies in the Family hoods. We make paper nigga! See how my swag lookin' like? Get the fuck up! I don't know what the fuck you're about but you look like a bad 70's cholo movie. Ain't about khakis and switch blades no more. This the 21st century. So get to stepping before we dead yo ass."

Ernesto looked at him saying, "God, I'm literally dumber for having heard everything you just said. Did your mami smoke crack when she was pregnant with you? Maybe that's why you think it's okay to speak and act like a chanate?" Franco pulled out a Glock 40 and aimed it at him and said, "It's time for you to leave. We ain't changing a thing. Fuck the Ass Touchers. Aint nobody scared of those flu rag fags! You lucky I let you leave here after talking about my mama like that you outta pocket, dawg," Ernesto squinted. The kid looked and sounded ridiculous.

Ernesto quickly opened the door of the SUV and slammed it into the kid causing his cuete to discharge against his will. The homie of Franco went for his own gun, a Beretta but Ernesto fired, shooting him in the temple and the hand cannon blew a huge chunk of brains out of the wannabe cholos head. Franco tried to back up but Ernesto pistol whipped him and knocked the hat from his head. As he hit the kid his lip bled. He hit him again and shoved him down. "That was my road dog, man! The homies is gonna hit you up real soon!"

Ernesto shook his head. "You don't know who I am do you? I'm a member of the New Austin La Onda chapter. That's La Raza's equivalent of being a made man. So as long as your hood has a thirteen on it you aint gonna do anything. If I have to come back here again and if I see South West Cholo tags anywhere near my neighborhood again before you remove the Soul Nation symbols, I will kill you. And if your hood moves on me, your whole cliqua gets a green light. You don't want that."

Franco looked up in fear as Ernesto had taken his Glock from him. "La Onda? You shitting me? Who the fuck are you, man?" Ernesto sarcastically replied, "George Lopez," And with that, he fired a shot into the 19 year old punk's left knee cap. He screamed, his voice getting higher than a school girl. He pistol whipped him in the jaw saying, "Shut the fuck up. You can scream like a baby all you want when I'm gone. If I see you around here again, you're dead. Rapido muerte!" With that he fired into the other knee and turned the cartilage and everything else into hamburger.

He screamed again but this time his voice gave out in mid scream and he went into shock. Two more cholos tossed down their beer cans and went for their guns as they saw what happened but Ernesto aimed at one and fired hitting him in the right shoulder. He cried out as a huge hole was torn between his arm and left shoulder. Ernesto decided to use the .380 he also had with him. He ducked back into the vehicle to get it just as the other cholo started firing. Ernesto got it out as two rounds whizzed by his head and another hit the left side mirror.

Ernesto fired the remaining rounds in the .38 and hit the guy, a cholo in a gray button up shirt and blue baggy jeans, in the stomach, chest and throat. He got back into the ride and began to haul ass out of there. More cholos, armed came running up the street only to see that they were too late. They rushed to the side of their fallen wounded of them yelled, "Somebody get an ambulance! Call 911!"

_Fucking set trippin levas._

**-Barry-**

The Asian asked him, "What's your name?" Barry sighed and said, "Barry St. Clair," The guy said, "Nice," passed Barry the 40 oz and introduced himself, "Barry, I'm Joo, but people call me Jrue. She's Rocky. Anyway, how did you know I was from out of town?"

Rocky laughed and said, "You've been smoking too much of that shit Jrue. You just said something about back east, remember? I think that earned you a little of out of town solidarity. Don't worry though. We New Austinians don't bite," She said with a wink. She then added to Jrue, "Unless you want us to."

He nervously shot her a Now-Is-Not-The-Time look. Barry said, "Yeah, your girl is right and even if you hadn't said anything about back east, you don't have New Austin plates. That's a pretty big indication you aren't from around here. Well, that and your accent. You're a Yankee too, aint ya?"

Jrue chuckled. "Just barely. Carcer city wasn't really part of the big thirteen. I like my tea either chopped and screwed or unsweet. I guess all in all, I'm just an Asian American, simple as that. More importantly though, what the fuck happened back there?"

Barry broke it down. "I went in there just for a beer. I wanted a beer but that guy, there's something about him. It's like he was telling me it was bad for me but without using words. It was with his eyes, you know what I'm saying? So I was going to get a soda but then these rednecks came in there scaring everybody. They put a gun to that kid's head. I didn't want to get mixed up but I can't let a little kid get shot by some methed out inbreds, can I? That lady you found on the floor, she came in wrong place wrong time and they shot her, the dude on the floor did. The clerk pulled a piece and shot the fat guy and they shot him. We're talking overkill."

He couldn't believe the shit had happened himself. Just talking about it was his own way of accepting the reality of what had happened. He continued, "So I hit the skinny bastard with the bottle. Clocked him upside the dome and he was out. I took the shotgun and fired at them as they got away. Funny thing is, I think they were after more than just the money in the register. They kept yelling something about a lotto ticket before they shot him. He gave it up before he started squeezing off so it looks like he got what he came for."

They sat in since as they drove. Jrue asked him, "Any idea where we're going, Barry?"

He said,"Nah, I'm new to the city."

"It's cool man you can stay up in my place until you get some ground under yah." Jrue said smoking a joint Rocky just rolled and passed to him. Barry was in the back hittin' the bottle.

"I'm just thinking, dawg. I mean, even if that lady hadn't been kind enough to let me take the disc with me, and the pigs had looked at it, they probably wouldn't have caught that they wanted the lottery ticket not the money. It was just a diversion. How does dumb inbreds like that think up a plan that elaborate?"

Jrue thought it over a minute. Rocky spoke up and said, "Then whoever is leading them aren't inbred. Not so dumb either because I mean..." Rocky interrupted, "I'm not 100% on this so don't hold me to it but that was probably members of the Cotton Ball Mafia. They got a lot of clout around here. Really just about all of the south. They got their hands in just about everything in this state. What they don't control, they try to. Dope, moon shine, guns, laundering, pussy, extortion, they always got their hands in the cookie jar."

Barry looked at the guns in his possession. "I don't know why this had to happen and I don't know why Allah would allow it but maybe I was meant to walk in there for a reason. Maybe those motherfuckers have been pulling shit like this longer than we know and I'm meant to stop it? It's a blessing that lady didn't sell me out.I owe her for that. I'm going to get her some justice."

Jrue asked him, "Hold up, you mean street justice? What are you going to do, Barry? What were you wanted for in the first place?" Barry answered, "I can't say right now, but yeah, I'm talking about street justice. What, you thought I was going to give the Sunbelt PD a ring? Hell no! Where I come from, G, street justice is the only kind of justice. On the real!"

Barry looked out at the night-time skyline. "I maybe a nobody out here but I'll do whatever I'm able to. If that man got killed over a Lottery ticket that isn't right. It was rightfully his and even if some would say he brought it on himself by shooting at the jackers, he's a small business owner he's got the right to defend what's his."

Upon saying this, Barry wondered what his own baby was up to and he hoped whatever or wherevers she was, the only person he ever gave a damn about aside from pops and mom in dukes, was in good hands. Insha Allah...

**-Ernesto-**

As Ernesto rolled out of the enemy territory, the cell phone of the junkie began to ring. He let it ring two, three four times and then answered. He did not say anything, he only pressed the talk button. The caller ID said Richard. "Don't keep me in suspense, bro. You dust the Varrio rat yet? I'm paying you guys good money and good shit to do this. You've had over an hour and I told you exactly where he was going so what's up?"

He spoke up saying, "Wrong, man, asshole. You know I was thinking, all of my customers are either gringos or black guys too. Don't like selling in the varrio. Self preservation and all that shit. What if I was to get some of our clients to come and get you? Then again, why should a crack head get all the fun when I can just come there right now and kill you myself? You should have stayed gone, joto."

Richard yelled, "Who do you think you talking to? So what you saying, you snuffed out my clients? Let's get one thing straight, partna, I'm the man round here. I'm S town. H.A.M. do you know that means? Hard As a Mothafucka! You just a burnt out bitch who don't know when his days done. You come up in the hood I got homies to back me so make your move, pussy boy. I'm real tight with the Locs round here. Shit, if I drop a certified Onda member they might just bless me into the set. Won't have to take no jump in or nothing. Don't let me catch you slippin on the fucking streets BITCH!" With that, the leva hung up.

Ernesto put the vehicle in drive and clutched the Glock in his hand. "Oh yeah. You can bet on that, culero. More sooner than later..." He looked at the address in the junkies phone. He began to drive out that way. He didn't live in the projects but in a house adjacent to it.

With that, as he drove off, he turned the radio station to 104.5 Radio Mundo, the station that played Chicano Hip Hop, Aztlan oldies, and any other kind of music La Raza was into. From Rock & Roll like Santana to women like Selena, who was a fucking legend in this state. God rest her soul Ernesto thought. So young only 23. _I have something in common with her father, I lost one of my own too soon._

The song Neighborhood Music by Lil Rob played as he drove. This was a song he could relax to. At least in the time he had before he knew he'd have to start spilling blood again.

_Goddamn...first day back in town and I'm already running around the streets like a mad man! Aye dios mio._ He thought to himself, it was almost 2am. _After this shit I'm gonna need a shave, a shower and some good old-fashioned_ sleep.

* * *

**STELM: _That's it! Read and Review as always and if you hate something tell us about it!_**


	4. Ernesto's Revenge

**STELM: Didn't expect us to be back so soon? We from KillAPussy Inc. and the StayBaked Collective bring to you a chapter with Ernesto going solo through his early enemy. **

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**Ernesto's Revenge**

The Mexican gangster drove the Cavalcade to the 3rd ward again. He'd lost track of time as it was way after dark now. Flaco was probably still out there grubbing with the entire block. From the Glock he had taken off that punk from the hood, he still had 14 shots left. That plus the .380 he took off the smack head.

He hated vehicles like these. They looked so gay or as they said in his hood, Mas Puto! Still, it was not his ride so it would not be traced back to him. This was not your run-of-the-mill car for Ese's. Usually it was either to a black drug dealer's liking, a flamboyant and boastful rapper, or a wigger trying to be like either of the two. The difference between it however being that the hustler grinded for theirs all though it was blatantly obvious to a chota who bought vehicles like that and rappers had enough money to buy five of these things plus four Banshees on top of that.

Where as a wigger, was usually a lazy kid from the suburbs who despite coming from an affluent background, was an unemployed waste of oxygen copying what they perceived to be black culture on TV but instead of hustling or working, they either got money from their loaded parents or bummed it off their "Shorty's" credit card Ernesto had known of many wayward youth like this in Vinewood and it was no different out here.

The radio station came on and a news report sounded off. "Jenny Acorn with your Weazel News update. A 24/7 in the Greater 5th ward area was robbed tonight just off of Liberty Road at approximately 11:34 PM, four armed and masked men came into the store and robed the store clerk at gun point. The Sunbelt Police Department say the video surveillance disc was unaccounted for as the robbers removed them from the crime scene. In the resulting struggle, the store owner, Azam Sharawat, a 33 year old Pakistani immigrant who had just gotten his American citizenship was gunned down by the masked gunmen. In the ensuing violence, a customer named Berta Flanders, age 38 was also shot upon entering the store during the robbery."

As Ernesto heard the broadcast he looked at the clock on the radio, it was 1:20 AM. _Damn! Those fools work fast! That was less than two hours ago and I wasn't too far from where that was!_

"In the shooting, the clerk managed to shoot one of the gunmen with a legal firearm he kept behind the counter before he himself was gunned down. One of the suspects, however was knocked unconscious during the robbery. Police arrived on the scene and arrested the man who was identified as thirty seven year old Lloyd Flint, a felon from Gulf City, Texas, was arrested and charged with armed robbery and murder all though it is uncertain if he was one of the actual men to pull the trigger, he will likely be charged as an accessory to murder and armed robbery. The suspect in custody is said to be involved with a criminal organization notorious through the South East and the the greater Gulf of Mexico area known as the Cotton ball Mafia, an organized crime organization with roots in at least seven states. The Cotton Ball Mafia, not to be confused with the Italian Mafia, or any ethnic mafia groups, it said to be comprised mostly of southern white males and is involved in drug trafficking, fraud, burglary, robbery, murder, bribery, and illegal gambling."

This had piqued his interest. They had been big growing up. While the barrio was nothing to fuck with, he had heard about how many of their members that had also been contract killers had never been caught. "As he was arrested, with a cut on his head, Mr. Flint was quoted as saying 'I aint talking' and refused to make any further statements until he saw his lawyer. According to the widow of the late Mr. Sharawat, two suspects are still at large. Both were described as Caucasian males, one dressed in a confederate flag do-rag and the other with a hat with similar design who Mrs. Sharawat described as having a beard. The bearded man was described as being of about five foot ten in height while the other was at least six feet tall. The man shot in self defense by Mr. Sharawat was identified as Ethan Pulaski, another Cotton ball associate who had been arrested in 2010 for possession of methamphetamine. Here live with your convenience store Rob-And-Go update, Jenny Acorn, Weazel News."

Ernesto was grateful when the music came back on. The song Apocalypse by Mr. Shadow featuring Lil Rob played. He moved his head to the flow. It was one of the most raw songs and flows ever written and it sampled the horror music theme from the Halloween movies. He was about ten minutes away from where he needed to be. Normally, for a hit like this, he would take backup because there were going to be a shit load of them but maybe this way, the cops would never believe it was just one man to take down however many he would need to.

He didn't expect to die here. He had just gotten back to town and it would be fucked up but then that was la vida. It could happen. It was just a matter of if God was watching out for him. He pulled up on the street facing Richard's house. He saw a few corner boys posted up slinging white, as well as a few Balling Locs patrolling their block. He looked down at the Glock in his hand.

Meanwhile inside Richard's house, a few homies were kicking it, ashing blunt of some new Mexican brick weed and maxing in front of his big screen TV. They had just gotten done watching a Weazel news update on a robbery at a 24/7. One of Richard's homie, a Loc named Eddie changed the channel. Richard grinned and said, "Hey you know I got mad love for you dawg but who said you can take control of my remote, little nigga?"

Eddie insisted, "Just hear me out bro gotta show you something," He mashed a few buttons on the remote switch the TV to the music video channel and said, "This shit is too funny, bro. Hey, Luther you too, cuz!You aint even heard this nigga flow before."

He put on a song called Justin Bieber by Bizarre featuring King Gordy both of whom were abnormally sized African-American rappers. Richard nodded as the flow started and he said, "Oh yeah, that tubby mofucka was going hard for his city three one three, right?"

The other Balla, Luther a tall skinny black man, in purple and white track pants, a white wife beater underneath, and a gold and purple jacket over it said, "I never heard of either one of them."

Eddie pointed out, "Watch this nigga get off, I was dying when I first seen this!"

_(Bizarre)_

5 in the morning just popped a pill

London, Ontario, somebody 'bout to get killed  
White boy lover, they say he's down with Usher  
Duct tape a blade, I think it's time for supper  
Nothin' aware, jumped on Canada air  
An hour and a half, I'll be there  
And do you think I can get a little boy pregnant?  
(I'm 'bout to bust!) We'll find out in a second  
Disrespected, treated like a slave  
I'd be your school teacher, and you done misbehaved  
Say goodbye to Ms. Bieber, cause you about to leave her  
In back of your head, hit with a meat cleaver  
Fuck you in the ass, then spit in your face  
Cause I wanna see how Justin flesh tastes  
Sodomize you, that's what I'm gonna do  
Kill my 8 year old daughter, for listening to you

I fucking hate you Justin (Hate you)  
I want to rape you Justin (In your ass)  
Your albums are disgusting  
Justin Bieber we're going to kill you  
I wanna hurt you Justin  
Put you in a little hearse young Justin  
And fuck your fans in the ass till I'm cumming  
Justin Bieber we're going to kill you

_(King Gordy_)

Now I never had a crash at a light with pedestrian  
Never had sex with a man that looks quite like a lesbian  
But, uh, then again, you are just a little boy, cinnamon  
Flavored lip gloss he's so timid and he's giggling  
Just like a little baby do, but I'mma give his ass dick for baby food  
Got him wearing boy shorts and lady shoes  
(Eh, Gordy you fucking Justin, maybe isn't that gay?)  
Quit fronting, Justin's a woman and I don't see if that way  
Justin don't got a dick, Justin's got a clit and likes to swallow piss  
Justin's a white trailer park bitch that got a lot of kids  
Stop calling this stupid bitch Justin, her name is Justine!  
That slut sings to ages under 13 who love cream  
Shot in their fucking mouths and lick their fucking butt clean  
And pull a machete out and cut them 'til their guts leak  
Trying to put my long ass peter in Bieber's beaver  
The eat his little coochie 'til he squirts all over my sneakers

Both Ballas, Richard, and his homies who'd been out with him just about all day lost day their shit. "Damn that's colder than a motherfucker!" Hooted Luther. " I need to get in the rap game and turn the fuck up with some dope shit like that, loc! On tha whole set that was the funniest shit I've heard in a long time good look bruh." Luther said dapping up the slightly baked Eddie.

Just then they heard gunshots outside. Luther went to the window, his .45 drawn and demanded, "Who's out there busting slugs?" Just then his eyes widened and he yelled, "Oh, shit everybody get down!" He ran from the window and there was a very loud noise as an SUV tore through the wall of Richard's house.

Glass shattered and dry wall was obliterated as the vehicle smashed on through. A man was crushed under the wheels and drug a few feet with his crimson stains as the vehicle went in. There was also a guy on the hood of the vehicle, a bloodied body dressed in a purple and black striped T shirt, a white baseball cap and violet gym shorts.

The vehicle crashed into Richard's homie the man with the cornrows. The man was sent flying back against the wall into the hallway near his bedroom. The man's neck was broken as he landed wrong. The other hood nigga to be hit aside from the one on Ernesto's hood was Luther.

He sent the Balla flying back into the TV and sent his head through the glass and electricity buzzed as the man was electrocuted and sparks flew all over him, his body gyrating like a junkie bitch at a rave party on molly. His skin, especially the skin on his face was fried, peeling away the flesh.

Ernest fired coming out of the car squeezing off four shots, hitting Eddie in the stomach. The Balla went down in agony firing back at the Mexican gangster, missing as he fell. Ernesto growled, "Fucking lobsters..." With that, he shot the youngster in the side of his head, near his left ear, and his brains decorated the two story house's floor "Los Aztecas! Hasta la muerte!" He yelled.

He fired at Richard who had ducked into the hallway and was returning fire. "You stupid bitch! Come up in my fucking house? You got some nerve! Youse a fake!" Ernesto used the vehicle as cover as Richard's five rounds hit the bumper and the front windshield. "You shouldn't have fucked with me, panocha or my son. You earned your own death by doing that!"

Other dealers were trying to zone in on the crash sight and three other dealers joined in on the gunfight, two of which were local hood boys with no gang ties and the other was a female banger, a curly-haired mahogany woman wearing a gray pair of pants and a violet midriff top with gold hoop earrings and a silver crucifix. She had on a purple bandanna tied around her forehead like a head band and the shade of purple was almost dark blue. To the untrained eye it would have been hard to tell a difference.

The other two consisted of a black man wearing a silver jacket over a black T-shirt and gray jeans. He had his hair short but with designs in the back. The other was a Mexican man with curly hair and a beard and tan skin. He wore a dark red T-shirt, a dark blue windbreaker, and blue pants. They all fired at Ernesto as well, forcing him to open the back door of the SUV and the front, the back for cover from the attacking dealers and the front covering him against Richard. Ernesto got the .380 out and fired two shots back at them. "Stay the hell out of this!" He warned. "This doesn't concern you!"

One of the men shouted back, "A motherfucker thinks a house in the hood is a parking space it always concerns me, mexicano fuck!" Ernesto fired the .380 back and said, "It's your life, macho man! And it'll be your death! No skin off my ass!" Richard took a shot as Ernesto fired around the side with the Glock twice.

"Ahhh! This Barrio Rat just hit me! Son of a bitch! Hey somebody drop this punk for me! Whoever does it, I'll make you my business partner! On my mama!" Ernesto shouted back as Richard returned fire with one hand as he had taken a shot in the left wrist shouted, "Your mama's a bitch and so are you!"

This angered Richard who discharged seven rounds at the door and Ernesto folded into cover in the floor of the front seat halfway in and halfway out of the car. "Fuck you! Nobody bags on my mama! You're a bum! Niggas around here barely get by trying to eat and can't have shit, probably cause of you!"

Ernesto laughed and made way crawling around to the other side through the front seat as bullets went through the back windshield and up to the front whizzing above his head as the two hustlers and the female Baller opened fire on the Cavalcade. Ernesto rolled out of the right hand seat opening the door as cover. The man in the red shirt aimed for him but Ernesto already had him. He fired losing track of the shots from the .380 and he hit the man in his sternum just as the gun clicked empty.

Ernesto went back to the front of the vehicle to take cover as they fired at him. The female hit him with a round in the left side of the right leg but luckily it was a graze wound. "Fucking puta! Soon as I find who did that, I'm going to shove this gun up your ass!" The woman shouted at him as she reloaded. "By my count, you're dry on ammo, baby! You slid off a razor blade and landed in an alcohol river, cuzzin! You all alone!"

Ernesto spotted the corpse of the dead Balla in the track pants. He picked up his .45 and shouted back, "Lucky for me, I know how to swim, toots!" He fired taking aim at the female gangster's foot and put a hole in her right tennis shoe, she cried out in agony and fell as a second round from the pistol hit her in the left ankle. She fell over, her gun discharging. The male dealer in the silver yelled, "Jada! Shit, girl, you all right?" She cried out very loudly, "Just get that piece of shit! Motherfucker!"

The dealer came around, charging in, head full of steam. Ernesto fired two rounds into the man's chest, lucky enough to catch him with blind fire. The man held his chest in pain but kept going. Ernesto fired again and hit him in the solar plexus. The man started to collapse with blood in his mouth but even as he fell, he attempted to grab Ernesto who had come out of cover.

He grabbed for him with a bloody hand, eventually attempting to grab at Ernesto's shirt. Ernesto shoved him off and the man's bloody lip trembled as he tried to still resist. "Chingada! Why'd you have to do that, asshole? Now I got to rearrange your face!"

With those words, he took the meaning of the word which normally meant beating the shit out of somebody, to a new extreme as he fired shooting the dealer in the face. The round caught him in the left eye socket and part of the nose and his damaged eyeball hung out of his head as he hit the floor.

Ernesto then ran to the back of the bullet ridden and smoking SUV, Richard firing round after round after him each soaring behind almost hitting him. Ernesto got to the back and spotted the female who still had her gun but was wounded. He kicked the gun from her hand and took it, tossing the empty .380 in the back of the SUV through the broken windshield.

He pointed the .45 at her and Ernesto saw that the man in the red sweater was still alive just barely as he was writhing in agony and trying to crawl to safety. Ernesto fired a shot into the back of his head. "Nice try..." With that, he took the woman's Beretta in hand, and the .45 in the other and she backed up in fear, her back to the floor. "You even touch me...it's over for you."

Ernesto advanced on her as Richard reloaded again. "Eenie...meanie...miny...moe...catch a ...Lobster...by the toe...if she hollers..." He fired the last two rounds into her chest, the first hitting her in the sternum,the second hitting her in the left breast. "Let her go..."

With that done, he took her Beretta, which he counted had nine shots left. He fired four rounds, two hitting Richard in the back as Ernesto flanked him from the side just as he was trying to flank Ernesto by going around the back of the car just as he had. He went down in pain. Ernesto spotted that the drug dealer still had one homie left. He was the same guy who had talked Richard out of killing him before. "Come on, nigga cap this bitch! What you waiting on? I need a doctor, bro...I'm hit!"

Ernesto saw the guy reaching for one of the guns of the fallen and he fired a shot with one hand and shot off both his right thumb and index finger. The man shrieked in any as blood sprayed every direction as a result of the wound. He was now at Richard's side with the gun aimed at his back. "How it going Richie? Sorry to break this to ya Little Richard but the rock industry is going in a whole different direction."

Richard tried to shoot him as he still had his gun but Ernesto disabled and disarmed him firing one through his knuckles on his right hand. He opened his mouth closing his eyes and roared, "Ahhhhhhh!" His voice caught in his throat. He looked up at him and snarled, "Go ahead and kill me, partna. My homies will be checking that ass first thing in the morning. You think you can kill shoot up my crib, crash into it...shot a couple Ballas and get away with it...? Think again!"

Ernesto grinned, "That's what happens when you send boys to do a mans job. Then again you wouldn't know anything about that. If I'm a fake what does that make you? A wannabe has been that never was. Say goodnight, Richard!" He took the man's gun and pocketed it. He then walked up to the wounded guy. He aimed the woman's Beretta at his forehead. The guy begged, "Come on, bro! It's me! Sean Andrews! I told Richard to take it easy on you before! I had pity, dawg! I got a girlfriend, man, I got my whole life ahead of me!"

Ernesto nodded. "Orale, vato. I'm gonna cut you some slack cause you did before but just remember one thing, I am a South Side Azteca and I am a member of La Onda and I came in here and took your home boys out myself. So if I can take out this many bodies all by myself, just think what I'll do to you if you make me regret it. Just think what we could do to this shit hole if I bring back an army. Not just my varrio but all the varrios. Entiendes?"

The man was in pain but relieved, "I swear, man you'll never see my face again! I swear to god, dude. I'm the fuck out of town first chance I get," Ernesto said, "Good! One more thing. I want the keys to whatever it is you're driving. Don't try to act like you don't have a car, I know a dope peddler can get at least a bucket,"

The young man forked over the keys. "I also suggest you get out of here. I'd say take the front door but...well, the whole front is a big door," The man tried to reach for his thumb and finger but Ernesto stepped on his good hand. He squealed in pain. "The fuck was that for, man?!"

Ernesto said, "I didn't say I'm waiting for you to get a cup of ice for your fingers. Get out now or you can blow up with the house. Hell, if he's tough and lucky, maybe your boy Richard even survives with injuries. He'll probably be a cripple but at least he lives right? I'd start praying for him. Keep your fingers crossed. On your good hand that is."

The young man took off, his wound dripping all over the floor.

With that, he went outside of the house. Richard screamed, "You walk outta here, they're gonna erase your sorry ass! You're nothing but street grease, you hear me?! Street grease you motherfucker!" Ernesto turned back to him and looked at the fallen wounded dealer from outside. "Is that gasoline I smell?" Richard actually showed fear and began to beg, "No man! Don't!" He began to try to crawl further into the hallway to get away. He tried to get up on his feet and limp to safety.

Ernesto grinned as he got a safe distance. He fired three shots at the gas tank and the car lit up like a Christmas tree, exploding in a deafening blast, the flames catching more of his house on fire. Richard's back was on fire and he screamed in pain as the skin on his back and shoulders, arms and face burned.

He ran, despite his current injuries and threw himself through the window of his bedroom getting outside as the house was covered in smoke and flames. He tried rolling on the ground to put the fire out but he also had cut himself on the glass as he got out the window. The dealer who had warned Richard not to fuck with Ernesto had been wearing a brown jacket. He took it off and tried to smother the flames on Richard. It worked but the damage was done. He was barely recognizable. Ernesto tossed all his empty and used up guns he'd taken in the fights into the house with the fire.

While he knew that the forensics teams could still tell what happened even in fires, throwing the guns in the fire got rid of any chance of them finding finger prints. He spotted the young drug dealers car, a purple Felon. He got in and started the car, grinning, "Guess the Ballas aren't the only ones who like the color purple."

With that, he took off down the street. A few of them appeared with guns drawn from the projects across the street. "Hey, what up coz? LTL hood! You Barrio Rats aint from around here! L's up A's down!" The hood rats yelled as they started shooting at the back of the car, a round from one Balling Loc hit the back passenger window.

Ernesto, who still had the Glock 40, discharged a few rounds out the window at them to send them scurrying for cover. He sped up and finally after firing a few more at his bumper and the back windshield, the local Ballas set gave up on the chase but he could tell they were pissed and would likely be looking for revenge.

He got away and as he rode through the late night streets of Sunbelt he made a call, "Oye, Flaco, I swear, hermano, I'm gonna get a motel or something first thing tomorrow but I'm fucking beat carnal. Some more shit happened. You got a place I can crash just for tonight?"

Flaco said, "Si mon, my ruca is over in Gulf City visiting her jefita and has the kids with her so its just us tonight. Yeah, come on over, bro. Take a load off tell me what happened. We got barbecue here. I know you haven't been out in San Andreas to appreciate grilled chicken, hot dogs, hamburgers and BBQ robs did you? Unless you went all vegan on me out there. Did you?"

Ernesto sighed with exhaustion saying, "I'm just glad my ribs didn't get barbecued tonight! I'll fill you in when I get there. See you soon and gracias hermano," Flaco told him, "De nada, homie. It's what we do. We're familia, ya?"

Ernesto remembered Flaco had always had his back. "Siempre! Por Vida! See you in a little bit, perro!"

_Even Later That Night..._

Ernesto had drank a few more beers and was glad to see the barrio having a good time as they were all there to eat and jam to music. His son was going to be coming over there too, it was past 1am. Ernesto had been getting to know a lot of the younger homies seeing what they were about. There was one younger vato of about 20 years named Puma. He had thick black hair and a turquoise bandanna wrapped around his forehead. Over that he wore a blue and black plaid checkered pendleton shirt and black khakis. He was of Mayan ancestry yet in some aspects because of his sad looking eyes, and his warrior glare, he looked like the fiercest Apache. Then again, every tribe had their warriors. His name was El Puma.

The cholo who had just gotten his head shaved was a young man named Jose Alfonso. The homies called him Snapper. He was Miguel's friend too. "Yeah, your son's been putting in work, ese! He's been down for the town for a while. He hammered a lot of those punks from the Families. Ballas, too! Trying to make a noise for Sunbelt that they can hear all the way in East Los Santos!"

Puma slapped hands with him and said, "Si mon que si. Those Ball Sack Lobster fucks and those other chanates, those Grave Street jotos are getting fired out of Sunbelt. Out of the state even if possible!"

Flaco took a bite off a pork rib. "Why settle for that? I say out of the country. Shit, they're trying to give us the boot like we're some parasites or something. I know every time one of us gets deported from our own state, they cheer as loud as they would at a football game,"

He then added, "They'd love that shit. They'd do it all over the country if they could. Then it'd just be them and the gringos to fight over something that's not rightfully theirs. That's why they try and call us what we're not. Latin, Hispanic. Because admitting we're indigenous would be an admission that what they do to us is wrong. La Onda has been fighting back for La Raza long before we ever had any laws in place that would. I hope you're listening to what I'm telling you. You pee wees need to know not only your cultural history but that of your gang. That's as much a part of yo u as the sangre in your veins And too many young vatos don't know dick about what being an Azteca is about. They think it's all about the money."

Snapper shrugged, "Well it aint everything but on these streets, it is half the battle! No feria means no AK's. No AK's means these chavalas from other cliquas could roll all over us. I wish it was like you said it used to to be back in the 60's and 70's. I'm not saying I can't square up cause you know I can but even to do that I gotta carry a cuete, because you never know if one of these panochas doesn't like to lose a fist fight and decides to try and shoot me? I gotta do what I gotta do."

Puma nodded at what Flaco said. "I hear you, El mero. I get what you mean. We gotta do both but we gotta mend old school with new school. Moderation, right? I mean Jose's right but if it's only about money that really leaves no room for carnalismo does it?

"Plus those Spanish Lord Putos and the Maniac Latin Apostles still go by Latino ancestry and don't even acknowledge their Aztec, Taino, Carib, Yaqui, heritage ashamed to be who they are," Said Snapper.

Puma shrugged. "Maybe they go by both? Saying Latinos are Indio? It's true you know. We are," Flaco shook his head, "Yeah but that's not an identity we ourselves picked out. So if I have ten percent Spanish blood or because I speak the language I'm a fucking Hispanic? Chale, puto! Puro Indio and proud of it. Y tu, Sadie You know what I mean?"

A pretty curvy chola nodded. "Si mon. Nican Tlaca,"

Snapper just said, "Yeah, I got no respect for Soul Nation or Kin. Their Raza gangs are a joke. They know goddamn well it ain't representatives from their cliquas who have the real sway. It's gangs like the Ebony Stones and the Royals. Those are the ones that have the clout in the Soul Nation. Same goes for the Kin! You think the representatives from MLA or the Raza Warriors run shit in the prisons in Carcer? Chales. Before Kin or Soul existed the gangs in the alliances hated each other while also smashing on gangs from the other side."

The rowdy youth took a hit off the recently rolled joint he had pinched between his index and thumb. He blew smoke soon after and said, "All I'm saying is, fuck a peace treaty if it means bowing down to the interests and politics of another gang, que no? That'd be like us being in an alliance with Ballas and Groves and let them dictate what we do. Over my dead body!"

Flaco nodded. "Okay, tranquile, carnalito. You've stated your piece and I heard you. We'll get to the work later all right? It's always work before play but right now? It's relaxation time so have a cold one and chill the fuck out!"

Ernesto finished his beer. "Another one, jefe?" Offered a chola named Mousy. She was a girl who was both petite yet somehow curvy which was rare if not almost impossible. She was a Chicana woman either around Miguel's age or near there. She had light brown skin, deep soulful pretty brown eyes that were big and round, and she had almond colored hair. She was as down for the hood as the vatos, he had heard. He was glad there was more female gangsters nowadays.

"No thanks, mija but gracias," Ernesto said genuinely. "I'm gonna keep it strictly soda. I just needed a few pistos to unwind but I'm not looking to get fucked up tonight," He said cracking open a can of Sprunk from the cooler and taking a sip.

She nodded and said, "Orale, Ernesto. Welcome home. We've heard nothing but good things. You're still a legend around here."

He smiled and started to say something back but Miguel had pulled up and said, "Hey, pop! I brought you a surprise, homes! Look who I found?" Miguel felt his heart skip a beat and then warmth. It was his daughter. He rushed forth to hug her, she was still as beautiful as ever but when she was a kid she'd just been his little girl. She was deep brown, and had long wavy black hair and similar eyes to Mousy but a bit lighter, having a bit of a hazel tint to them. "Papa! Como estas?" He smothered her with kisses.

"Ahahaha! My baby girl! You grew up what happened? Carmen, it's been way too long," She hugged him again and said, "I'm happy you're home. Have you talked to mami yet?" He shook his head. "Looking to avoid that as long as I can. I knew my baby girl was doing well on her own all independent taking on America but I'm overwhelmed! Look at you, looking like an Aztec princess! At least you got one thing from your mother she was good at she knew how to look classy,"

She was dressed in a fancy brown jacket and a black skirt. The brown jacket went over a red blouse.

She kissed her father on the cheek back and said, "So do you, dad. You know that! Just in a different way. I can't be wearing plaid, khakis, and beanies like this loser," She said nodding to Miguel. "I'm not a boy," Miguel flipped her off saying, "Fuck you, Carmen ya fucking square."

She smiled saying, "oooh what a nice comeback, Miguel. The 60's called and they want their insults back," She tuned back to her father. "Anyway, you look pretty tired. You sure you can hang in there? If you want, you can turn in and I'll see you in the morning maybe you, me and bone head over there can get breakfast?"

He was tired but he had been gone a long time and sleep was not too urgent for him to spend time with his familia. He took a bite off the piece of the lukewarm rib he had. "No, I'm okay. We'll hang out for a bit you and I we got a lot of catching up to do."

She beamed, "Bueno!" With that they walked back to the table to get her something to eat.

_I maybe tired but this is mi familia. What's left of it with Luis dead and the rest moved away. I'm gonna spend time with both of my babies if it kills me. Besides, this is good grub and I can earn my sleep for later. At least this is a better way to end a long day._ He thought.

* * *

**NATIVE GUNZ 13:_ All right that's about it on my end. So just so everybody knows that song Justin Bieber is a real song by those artists I highly recommend checking that one out I've been cracking up now see, Stelm what you asked me before about mainstream rapers and black rappers and all that mierda, well one group i will always like is D12 and Bizarre is their funniest member. And to think they were Eminem's friends from his youth? I actually got Afro listening to that group he already knew about Eminem but I had him borrow my D12 Devils Night CD (2001)which is highly under rated some years back and the rest was history! It's a good album._**

_**As for the line about "I can't make money probably cause of people like you" was what an actual Texan said to me once so I figured I'd incorporate that in here.**_

_**The song Apocalypse by Mr. Shadow & Lil Rob is another firme track if anybody likes underground rap, then check that out. Also, thanks to Stelm for being thee one to post the chapters and stories and also, if you wanted to use a different person than Jenny Acorn from GTA IV Go ahead and edit that I just used that cause it's what I remembered.**_

_**Oh and for those who don't know pisto is Cholo slang for a drink. Usually hard liquor but can also be used as a general term for beer. As far Cerveza Barrachos, they are a GTA V spoof on El Corona.**_

_**The Maniac Latin Apostles are based n the Folk Nation's MLD's and the Raza Warriors is based on La Raza, a Folk gang with the Mexican flag's colors as their bandannas colors. Also, the Ebony Stones are based on the Black P Stone, a People Nation gang from Chicago AKA Carcer City (You should all check out Afro Spirit's story Carcer City he did a good job wish he'd continue.) and the Royals are based on the Vice Lords.**_

_**What Snapper was saying about Kin and Soul nation gangs is what many Surenos say about them mainly because the Folk nation and People nation gangs in Chicago like to bad mouth us cause we don't do things the way they do even though our cliwua was around longer. Like the "Latin" Kings, only go back as far as the 40's.**_

_**The Surenos go back to the 20's! Well, individual cliquas/varrios that are now considered Surenos but still exist under the same independant hood name they always have the oldest being White Fence (Famous for defending us in the racist attacks by sailors during the Zoot Suit Riots of 43)**_  
_**but other gangs like Maravilla, Big Hazard, Tokerstown, trace their back to the 30's and 40's Big Hazard is probably the 2nd oldest LA gang.**_

_**As for the Cotton Ball Mafia they are based on the Dixie Mafia and aside from the name difference I did pretty much break down what they're about. Yeah anyway, read and review people!**_

_**Native Guns 13**_


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